A Losing Game
by Polexia Aphrodite
Summary: After the Chitauri attack, Steve Rogers seeks solace in a vastly changed world and finds a kindred spirit in a S.H.I.E.L.D. doctor. Captain America/OC.
1. Chapter 1

Steve slid his arms into the thin, cotton exam gown and reached behind him to tie it at the nape of his neck. A draft told him that the fabric panels didn't quite meet across his broad shoulders, and he pursed his lips with dissatisfaction. Pulling the gown around his narrow hips, he perched on the end of the exam table, the tissue beneath him rumpling slightly. After a few interminable moments of staring at the medical charts that lined the tiny room's walls, the door in front of him opened.

He had only seen the doctor S.H.I.E.L.D. had assigned to him once before, after the awful fight in Manhattan. He was still adjusting to the idea of having a woman as a doctor, but he knew better than to say anything. Mostly, it was just being alone and undressed with a strange woman that made him uncomfortable.

She smiled cordially as she entered before adjusting her dark-rimmed glasses on the bridge of her nose and lowering her eyes to his chart, pinned to a clipboard clutched against her chest.

"How are we feeling today, Captain?"

"Just fine, Doc," he nodded, trying to appear agreeable.

She checked his eyes, his ears, his blood pressure and heartbeat, making notes on his chart as she went. She slid the right sleeve of his gown up, her fingers touching his bicep. "This is looking good." He flushed, in a brief moment of misunderstanding, before remembering the cut one of the Chitauri spears had inflicted.

"Yeah, my cells…" he trailed off. He couldn't really claim to understand everything the serum had done to him. But the doctor nodded nonetheless, scribbling on her chart.

She straightened. Her pen stilled and she leaned against the wall across from him.

"Any other complaints?"

Steve hesitated for a moment. It was a loaded question.

His brow creased as he looked at her; her dark hair was swept away from her face, a nametag reading SPRING, M.D. was pinned to her crisp lab coat, the glasses were sliding back down her nose. He shook his head. Everything that was wrong with him couldn't be summed up like this, not when he was already so literally exposed.

His eyes met hers, and she held his gaze.

"Hm," she nodded, "I'll let Director Fury know you're healing well, then."

There was a challenge in her eyes and in her voice. As though she couldn't find it plausible that after his resurrection, after the disorientation and anger, after the fierce fighting just weeks ago, that he could be perfectly fine.

He flashed a half-smile, his eyebrows raised innocently. Surely he could convince her.

"Next month then?"

"Next month," she nodded, "Barring any more catastrophes."

After she left, he dressed quickly. The room closed in around him, like being crushed in the ice.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer (do we still have to do these?): All characters and most everything in this universe belongs to Marvel. Original characters belong to me.

Thanks so much to all readers, and if you like it (or if you don't), please review! This doesn't have a proofreader, it just goes straight from my brain to the internet, so constructive criticism is welcome. Thanks!

* * *

A month later, he was back in her office. A week before, a barrage of lab assistants had poked and prodded him, taking vial after vial of his blood for an assortment of tests. Now, thankfully clad in his regular clothes, he awaited the results.

A gentle knock on the door precipitated Dr. Spring's entry.

"Good morning, Captain," she smiled politely, "How are we feeling today?"

He nodded, as usual, "Just fine, Doc."

She told him that the tests were fine, that everything had been as expected for someone with his special abilities, who had been through what he had been through.

"'What I've been through'?" he asked. Something in him bristled at the phrase. It was the kind of thing that people said to him after his mother died and he was left alone.

The doctor nodded, "Your body's been through a lot. Can't be easy."

He shrugged. A lump grew at the back of his throat. He struggled to keep his face neutral, frustrated at his inability to control himself under this woman's unflinching gaze, which seemed to see right through him.

She looked him up and down, her arms settled across her chest. "Have you ever been to the natural history museum?"

He shrugged, "Yeah. Not for years, though." He cringed inwardly as soon as he said it, but she just gave him a small smile.

"No kidding. Let's go."

"What?"

"Right now. Come on, grab your jacket." She shrugged off her lab coat and grabbed a jacket off a hook on the wall.

On the walk to the museum, she asked him what he remembered about the city. He talked about his studies at the Auburndale Art School in Brooklyn, and how he used to wander through the boroughs of Manhattan watching the architecture change from building to building, neighborhood to neighborhood. He pointed out the neo-Gothic spires of the Woolworth building, the Renaissance-style gables of the Dakota, told her about how his mother would bring him into the city to watch the construction of the Chrysler and Empire State Buildings. He went on and on about the new buildings, too: the audacious curves of the Guggenheim Museum and the unreal 8 Spruce Street skyscraper.

As they meandered across Central Park, she bought them Styrofoam cups of coffee from a cart. He tried to pay, out of gentlemanly habit, but she made a crack about doctors' salaries being more than superheroes' and pulled out her wallet.

He told her about standing in bread lines while his mother took in laundry from their neighbors. When she asked, he told her that his mother died. But he didn't tell her about the months he had watched her cough her lungs out. He didn't tell her about holding her hand as she died, or feeling her fingers grow cold between his.

When she asked, he told her about the odd jobs he had taken once he was left alone. He told her about the tiny apartment in Brooklyn he had shared with Bucky. About Coney Island and the awful dates Bucky would set him up on.

She listened to him. Whenever he paused, she asked him to tell her more, tell her everything. The memory of Peggy's jibes about his inability to talk to women floated forward in his mind. She had been right then, but now it seemed it was all he could do to stop talking.

They wandered through the museum quietly, but never left each other's side. In the soft glow of the dioramas, Steve caught a glance of her, the scene before them reflecting off her glasses. He was overcome with an unsettled feeling, like seeing a teacher out of school.

"You know," he began, "I don't even know your name."

She turned to him, smiling politely. "It's Anne. But don't let anyone hear you call me that."

He laughed and nodded.

It was late afternoon when they left. On the walk back, feeling guilty for his monopolization of their earlier conversation, he asked her where she had come from.

She told him that she'd grown up in California. That her parents were old hippies living in a house crowded with knickknacks near San Francisco. She explained what "hippies" were, and why her father was still a good man even though he had burned his draft card. She told him about studying at Berkeley, and how her friends had accused her of selling her soul when she took a job with S.H.I.E.L.D.

Back at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, they parted quietly. Steve felt a strange sense of regret as he left her.

* * *

As a chilly autumn turned into a chillier winter, Steve steadily found himself looking forward to his appointments with Dr. Spring. After checking his pulse and blood pressure, she would let him dress and they would sit in her tiny, cluttered office with mismatched mugs of instant coffee. It was there that he discovered that he still had a deep well of war stories: funny ones that made her laugh, and sad ones that made her squeeze his hand as they said goodbye.

She gave him homework: modern albums and history books, trying to help him catch him up on all that he had missed. Over time, he found himself understanding more of Tony Stark's jokes, and deemed the effort a success.

In return, she asked him to take her on tours of all the art museums in New York, telling her about each painting, what it meant, pointing out his favorites. It inspired him to turn the second bedroom in his S.H.I.E.L.D.-purchased apartment in Brooklyn into a studio.

* * *

In October, a dispute between Natasha Romanoff and her assigned physician forced Fury to reassign Anne to her care. Steve's medical care would transfer to the direction of a Dr. Abernathy.

Steve frowned when Anne told him. But she just shrugged. "I think it's better this way," she said, "Being friends with your doctor, at least at S.H.I.E.L.D. is kind of frowned-upon."

It made him smile to hear her say it. The idea that there was someone in this strange, new world who thought of him as a friend, and who he could think of as a friend, made his heart swell.

Gradually, they saw more and more of each other outside of the headquarters building. Anne found a theater in the city that played old movies. She showed him how to operate the electronics S.H.I.E.L.D. had furnished his apartment with. He despised modern television, but the night she brought over microwave popcorn and _I Love Lucy_ on DVD, they had laughed together for hours.

On another night, she brought over Chinese takeout, a bottle of wine, and a bag full of movies. Curled on his sofa, she listened with rapt attention as he explained that alcohol had no effect on him.

"Does it bother you?" she asked then, "Being different?"

He licked his lips, thinking for a moment. "Yeah. I suppose so. Not much I can do about it, though."

"Do you ever wish you hadn't taken the serum?"

"No. Never. You didn't know me before all this," he gestured vaguely at his modified body, "but I didn't exactly have a lot going for me."

Anne frowned. "I don't believe that. They wouldn't have picked you if that was true."

As soon as she said it, he knew that it was exactly the kind of thing Peggy would have said.

He smiled, shrugged it off and asked her to start the movie (remote controls still weren't his strong suit). But it was the first time Steve wondered what it would be like to touch her, to be closer to her: this woman who could see the sadness in him when no one else could.


	3. Chapter 3

Thanks for reading. Reviews are appreciated!

* * *

That December, Tony Stark insisted on hosting S.H.I.E.L.D.'s annual Christmas party at the Stark Building. Steve arrived late, having spent the entire day struggling against the idea of spending the holiday alone. Even after he had been left an orphan, he hadn't been so alone – he had always had Bucky.

Finally, though, not content to feel sorry for himself, he had forced himself to shower, dress, and make an appearance. He had been greeted warmly enough by Tony and Pepper, who he had met once before at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

It was along the edges of the room that he found Dr. Banner, who was just as interested in hiding as he was. Steve wouldn't know until later that Banner was a true kindred spirit – nearly as alone as he was – but for that night, at least, they made good companions.

As the evening wore on, Steve and Bruce (both teetotalers for their own reasons) watched the revelers around them grow increasingly loud and relaxed. Steve found his eyes drawn over and over to Anne, seeing her laugh with her colleagues, noticing for the first time the way her finger hooked around her lower lip when she was really listening to someone, but looking away when her gaze met his.

Hours later, from across the room, Steve saw Anne approach Natasha, her coat was on, a purse slung around her shoulders. Realizing that she was leaving, he felt something twist inside him at the knowledge that he hadn't spoken to her at all that night. He left Bruce, and made his way towards the two women, who seemed to be chatting amiably (or at least as amiably as Natasha ever chatted).

"Heading out?"

Anne looked up at him and nodded, "I've had enough of Tony Stark's liquor."

Up close, he could see that she was flushed and unsteady on her feet. He couldn't help smiling at the sight of her professional façade slipping.

Just as she reached out to shake Natasha's hand goodbye, an arm swung around her shoulders; a sandy-haired, red-faced young man pinched her against his chest, beaming down at her overzealously.

She winced. "Agent Pendrell."

Steve recognized him; he had hovered by her side all night.

"You're not leaving already, Annie?"

"I am."

Her voice was clipped. She looked at Natasha pitifully, but the redhead just smiled, content to watch the spectacle before her.

"I'll take you home, then. You, _you_," Pendrell pointed at her, his finger inches from her face, "have had far too much to drink."

Anne's eyes widened in horror at the suggestion. She opened her mouth to protest. Seeing her obvious discomfort, Steve felt his gorge rise. His hand landed on Pendrell's shoulder forcefully, making him jump.

"It just so happens I've already offered to walk Dr. Spring back to her apartment."

Natasha turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised. Pendrell blinked up at him in surprise, as if he hadn't noticed him until then. He pulled himself up to his full height, but still only came up to Steve's chin.

Pendrell released Anne, letting his arms fall to his sides. "Oh. I'm sorry, Captain, I didn't realize…"

Steve clapped him on the shoulder again, just slightly too hard to be truly friendly. "Nothing to be sorry about, Agent."

He nodded at Anne and gestured towards the door gallantly.

* * *

They walked to her Manhattan apartment in silence, only the sounds of traffic disturbing the chilly night air. It wasn't until they had nearly reached her building that she spoke.

"You didn't have to do that back there."

Steve stopped short and she stumbled and turned to look at him. His mouth was open, his expression open and surprised. "I wasn't –" he started, but couldn't find the end of the sentence.

"Just," she raised a hand, stopping him. Her words slurred slightly, "Just because you're some kind of superhero doesn't mean you have to do stuff like that all the time."

He looked at his feet, suddenly feeling painfully self-conscious.

"Okay."

"Thanks, though." She reached towards him, brushing his elbow and making him look up at her. The stood together quietly for a moment, Anne swayed slightly. Steve felt something rise between them, something thick and heavy, unspoken and tense.

Finally, Anne broke the silence, shifting nervously from foot to foot.

"Why didn't you find me tonight?"

He took a small, almost imperceptible step closer to her, closing the distance between them. She looked up at him seriously.

"You looked like you were having fun."

"So?"

He couldn't hold her gaze. He stuffed his hands in his pockets.

"I didn't want to –"

He shook his head, cutting himself off. Didn't want to what? His jaw clenched, he frowned at his shoes. He didn't want to infect her life with the same sadness, the loneliness and exhaustion and frustration that haunted him.

Later, he would tell himself that the next thing she did, she did because she had been drinking. But it was a self-deception that was easy to see through.

She closed the gap between them, wrapping her arms around his waist. Her head leaned against his chest. Without really knowing what he was doing, his hands left his pockets, coming to rest on her back.

He felt her sigh against him.

"You're going to be okay."

She looped her arm through his, leading him past her building. They walked through the city side by side, filling their lungs with icy air. It was early enough that Christmas tree vendors were still open. She confessed that she hadn't had a tree in years. They picked one out together and he carried it back to her apartment.

She didn't have decorations, but they made garlands out of popcorn and thread. After, Anne turned on a movie, something old and black and white with people who talked the way Steve remembered. When she fell asleep, her head was on his shoulder.

Even though he was alone, even though he had been thrust into a world and a time he didn't understand, and even though he knew the next fight was just around the corner, it wasn't a bad Christmas.

* * *

It was a chilly February morning when S.H.I.E.L.D.'s New York headquarters was attacked. Steve had been suited up, fighting computer-generated monsters on the building's subterranean training floor when a string of explosions rocked the room.

There were a series of shouts and commands in his earpiece, but he ignored them, racing to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s medical laboratories on the seventh floor. The disembodied voices in his ear told him that the building remained stable, but that unidentified enemy forces were entering.

He found Anne alone in the lab, crumpled on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. She eased herself onto her feet as he entered, gripping a counter to catch her balance. His hands gripped her arms to steady her.

"I'm okay," she pushed her hair away from her face, "I'm okay. What – "

She paused, the sight of him in uniform driving home the seriousness of the situation.

"Come on," he ordered.

He grabbed her by the arm, racing through the winding halls with her in tow until they reached her office.

As she ran inside, he told her to barricade the door behind him.

He had almost left when she grabbed his arm, forcing him to turn back to her.

"Be careful."

Her voice was strong, but her eyes were pleading. Steve swallowed, nodded, and left.

For an hour, Anne huddled in the dark corner of her office, sweating through her t-shirt, her hands clenched together. A series of booms rattled the walls, sending a framed photograph crashing to the floor. After a while, a long silence settled on the room. Crouched behind her file cabinet, her feet were asleep, her body ached.

A loud bang shook the door and sent Anne tumbling backwards, her hands scrabbling for something heavy to swing.

"Anne!" Steve bellowed on the other side of the door.

She cried out, overwhelmed with relief. Scrambling to her feet, she shoved her desk away from the door and pulled it open. Steve, who had been leaning against the door a moment before, tumbled in, hitting the floor with a sickening _thud_. He was unconscious, the front of his suit, the once-gleaming star, dark with blood.

A deafening crash in the hallway made Anne grab him under the arms, adrenaline lending her uncharacteristic strength as she pulled him into the office. She closed the door with a quiet click and pushed the desk back in place. She grabbed a spare lab coat, pushing it against the bottom of the door to block the light and turned on a desk lamp to better examine him.

She pulled off the mask and grabbed a pair of scissors from her desk to cut away the elastic blue fabric of the suit. He was covered in bruises, burns, and scrapes. A medical kit and a steady pair of hands provided the supplies necessary to knit together and bandage the deep gash that stretched across his chest. He had lost a lot of blood, but he would live. _Surely_, she thought, _he would live._

"Captain," she whispered, and started when another crash came from the hallway. She shook his shoulders gently, "_Steve_."

He moaned, and she hurriedly pressed her fingers to his lips. A shuffling outside the door made the fog in his eyes clear. He moved to sit up, but winced at the sharp pain the shift caused. She met his eyes, shook her head slowly.

He stayed motionless until the sounds of movement in the hall subsided. Then, leaning on a file cabinet for support, he raised himself to his feet, pulling the mask over his head and starting towards the door.

"Please," Anne grabbed his arm, meeting his eyes gravely, "You're already hurt."

For a moment, Steve felt his resolve falter. One of his hands raised to brush a lock of hair behind her shoulder, lingering along the side of her neck. His gloved fingers traced her jawline. He saw her eyes drop to his mouth, a slight sigh passing between her lips. It was the way Peggy used to look at him. He banished the thought as soon as it came.

"I'll see you after."

It would be months before he would be able to say exactly what possessed him in the next moment, but suddenly he pressed his lips to her hairline, lingering just long enough to feel her lean into him.

As he left the room, he didn't dare look back.


	4. Chapter 4

_March_

The team ran towards the jet, Tony at the lead, Steve bringing up the rear. Ahead of him ran Thor with Natasha limp in his arms. Clint Barton ran alongside him, desperation already showing on his face. Dr. Banner had skipped this particular mission – S.H.I.E.L.D. had sent him halfway across the world on a special assignment – and without a team member with medical training, Steve knew Natasha's chances were slim.

Inside the jet, Thor set the unconscious woman on the floor. Barton hovered over her, clutched her to him, calling her name.

Tony grabbed Steve by the shoulder. "We've got to get off the ground. Come on."

He followed him to the cockpit, taking a seat as the plane hummed to life.

"You've flown before, right?" Tony shouted over the din of the engines.

"It's been a while," Steve shouted back, "And last time the landing didn't go so good."

Tony cracked a wry smile, looking remarkably like his father, "Buckle up. You'll do great."

* * *

Steve had radioed ahead, and by the time they arrived, a triage center was already set up in the hangar. As soon as the jet's wheels touched the ground, he could see a team of medics sprinting towards the lowering entry ramp. By the time he and Stark were out of their seats and into the hull of the jet, Anne was already inside. Two jumpsuit-clad medics unfolded a stretcher.

Barton hadn't moved from where he had been when they took off: leaning against the wall of the jet, Natasha unconscious in his arms, his bare hands and arms smeared with her blood.

Anne knelt in front of him, her hand on his arm.

"You have to let her go, Agent Barton. You have to let us help her."

"Can't," his voice was strangled, unrecognizable, his arms squeezed the lifeless woman in his arms against his chest, "Too late."

Anne gave the body between them an appraising look. She stood quickly, turned to murmur something to another medic, who handed her what looked like a small gun. Moving fast, she pressed the barrel against Clint's neck. A metallic _clink_ echoed through the quiet jet.

Steve jerked towards her reflexively, the sight of his teammate slumping over momentarily making him forget that she was friend, not foe. She glanced up, her eyes meeting his a little guiltily.

"He'll be fine. It's just a sedative."

Steve watched as Anne's team delicately extracted Natasha from his arms, lifted her onto the gurney and wheeled her away.

He waited in the jet with Clint until he regained consciousness half an hour later, eyes wild, demanding to know where Natasha was.

Steve led him to the hospital ward. They sat together in silence for hours. Steve didn't – couldn't – feel right leaving him there to wait alone for the worst news.

Four hours in, Anne came out, her arms crossed, a lab coat pulled tightly around her. Clint jumped to his feet. She explained that Natasha's injuries had been extensive, but that surgery had been successful and she would remain in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Intensive Care Unit for the next few weeks. Clint thanked her coolly, the incident in the jet clearly not forgotten, and followed Anne's directions to the ICU, content to watch Natasha sleep through a window.

Steve lingered. Anne gave him a small smile as she turned away, but he grabbed her arm. She stopped, looked up at him. Her coat fell open, exposing pale blue scrubs speckled with blood.

He stepped forward, his hand moved to the small of her back, just barely grazing the fabric there.

"Are you okay?" his voice was quiet.

She gave him a closed, tight-lipped smile. "Yes. Of course."

He frowned at her, but she shook her head.

"Don't worry about me," she gestured down the hall behind him, the direction Clint had gone a moment before, "Take care of your team, Captain."

Before he could reply, she had disappeared back into the operating theater.

* * *

At the end of the month, Fury assigned Anne to a new project, something she couldn't even tell Steve about. He saw less and less of her as her nights in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s lab grew longer and longer.

After a while, tired of being alone in his apartment, Steve started extending his sessions in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s training room. Past midnight, he would practically run up to the lab, freshly showered, to find her hunched over a microscope and a petri dish. She would look up at him, tired but smiling, and he would walk her home.

On some nights, Steve would find Bruce in the lab, too – sometimes at his own workstation, sometimes leaning over Anne's shoulder, or with Anne leaning over his. When he saw them like that, heads close together, murmuring about data he couldn't hope to understand, he would enter a little more loudly than usual, the sight of them jumping and moving apart making something twist in his gut.

In the downtime between fights, Steve could feel her moving away from him, could feel that they weren't as close as they had been just weeks before. On the night he came up to the lab to find her, her face in her hands, with Bruce's arms wrapped around her, he had left quietly, trying not to feel like his insides were sliding out of him.

* * *

_April_

He went a week and a half without seeing her again, too afraid of what he might find in the middle of the night in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s laboratory.

He kept his training schedule, though, and it was on one of his usual late nights that on his way out of the building, he found himself alone in an elevator with Bruce. He hated the way the sight of him in the closeness of the tiny elevator made his jaw tighten uncontrollably. Objectively, he knew that, as a part of his team, Bruce deserved more from him.

Steve's uncharacteristic coldness wasn't lost on Bruce, who took him by the shoulder, ushering him downstairs, out of the lobby, and around the corner to an all-night diner. They took seats on plastic-covered benches, Bruce ordering cups of coffee for each of them.

After several minutes of small talk that made Steve clench his fists under the table, a lull in the conversation made Steve ask the question that had been plaguing him.

"How long have you and Anne," he paused, his expression darkening, "been together?"

"You think – Me and _Anne_? _Doctor_ Anne? Anne Spring? _That_ Anne?" As he spoke, Banner's eyebrows raised incredulously.

Steve shrugged and looked away, embarrassed, but Bruce just smiled, holding his hands up defensively.

"I can assure you, me and Anne, that's…that's not a thing. Anyway, I'm not exactly on the market right now."

Chastened, Steve swallowed, "Oh. I just—I saw you and her the other night and I thought…"

He pursed his lips, examining the mug of coffee in front of him. Bruce shook his head.

"That wasn't anything. Fury's got her working on this new thing she can't even talk about. I think she's under a lot of pressure. She just had a bad moment."

Bruce's brow furrowed, he looked at Steve for a long moment.

"You know she's crazy about you, right?"

Steve looked at him blankly, unsure of how to react.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. – " Steve began, trying to rationalize.

Bruce laughed, a little bitterly, and shook his head. "S.H.I.E.L.D.? What do they have to do with anything good in the world?" Suddenly, Bruce looked so sad, so wise, that Steve couldn't help giving him every ounce of his attention. "Take it from me. If you've found something to be happy about, grab on to it. Don't ever lose it. Don't let _them_ stop you."

Steve swallowed, trying to erase the lump in the back of his throat.

Later, back in his apartment, it wasn't just Bruce's words that ran through his mind. As he finally drifted into a restless sleep, he thought he could hear Dr. Erskine, once again explaining the difference between good soldiers and good men.

* * *

In Steve's absence, Anne continued her work for Fury. He had provided her with a set of samples from an anonymous donor, with the assigned task of identifying and replicating the characteristics of their physiology.

Bruce still joined her. Fury had specifically ordered her not to divulge the details of her assignment, but it helped to have a second opinion, as long as the specifics of her questions were thickly veiled.

It was on one of their usual late nights that she heard him clear his throat from his workstation across the room and ask, "You seeing anyone?"

Anne's eyes stayed fixed on her microscope's eyepiece, unfazed. "Are you asking me out, Doctor?"

Bruce laughed. "No, no. I'm just asking for a friend."

It was Anne's turn to smile. "Sure you are." She leaned back, "The answer is no." She explained that it had been hard to meet anyone since she had come to New York, trying not to reveal how lonely the move had made her.

He shifted. "What about Steve?"

"What about him?"

Bruce shrugged, "You guys seem like you like each other. He seems eligible."

She rolled her eyes, "He's a patient."

"_Was_ a patient."

Anne looked up at him, her lips pursed.

"He works for S.H.I.E.L.D., I work for S.H.I.E.L.D. There are rules."

Bruce grinned, pointing the tip of his pen at her.

"You know what they say about rules."

She couldn't help the rush of blood to her face, and she hoped he wouldn't notice.

"He's different around you."

She scoffed, trying as hard as she could to appear nonchalant; trying not to show that it was something she had thought about far too often.

"Different how?"

Bruce looked at her seriously.

"Like for once he doesn't want to crawl out of his own skin."

She sobered, knowing exactly what he was talking about: the discomfort and unease that surrounded him. It hit her at once how much she missed him since he had stopped coming by the lab.

Bruce continued, "You aren't the only one who sees him. You aren't the only one who worries."

She looked at her lap. She knew then that Bruce was more than brilliant.

"You're a good one," she told him, before turning back to her work.

* * *

_May_

Steve waved aside the response team that ran up to him as the team landed in the helicarrier hangar, fresh from their latest battle.

Finding his berth, he swung the door closed behind him, sitting on the end of the bed and pushing away the mask that covered his face. The stillness of the room was a relief. Objectively, he knew that it was his responsibility to take care of his team, to be there for them in every battle, every fight, but it made it no less exhausting.

He had asked, _prayed_, to be part of one fight: to defeat Hitler's army, to be a part of his father's regiment, to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Bucky against their foes. The things he fought now were far removed from those old ideals – they were gods, and monsters, and nothing he had ever dreamed was real.

There was a soft knock on his door and he looked up. He opened the door to Anne, and moved aside quickly to let her in.

It seemed like so long since he had seen her, and her presence in the tiny room seemed suffocating and comforting at the same time. What Bruce told him pounded a tattoo in his head: _she'scrazyaboutyoushe'scrazyaboutyou._

She cleared her throat, "I checked on Agent Romanoff. She's fine."

He nodded.

She raised her eyebrows expectantly, "Are _you_?" It was a ritual they had repeated time and again over the last months – she would check on him after they returned from fights, and she would leave satisfied that he remained in one piece.

He nodded again. Her hair fell around her shoulders in dark waves. Her face was flushed from hurrying to reach him, her eyes were bright, her mouth full. She was radiant. _Had she always been radiant? _Suddenly, the struggle of the last few hours, the misery it caused, dropped away, leaving him stricken and speechless.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Good. I just wanted to…to let you know about that. About Agent Romanoff."

Anne turned to the door, ready to leave the awkward exchange there, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

When she turned back to him, he was standing close enough that she could feel heat radiating off of him, could smell the acrid smoke of battle. His hand, wrapped around her upper arm, warmed her through.

Her eyes lifted to meet his. "What?"

His head dipped nearer to hers, and her heart stopped. His brow creased slightly. She thought she saw his gaze drop to her lips, but banished the thought as soon as it came.

The sight of her, the feel of her, the way she made the things that haunted him retreat, left Steve feeling punch-drunk. He moved closer, the closest to her he had been since that terrible day when S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters had been attacked. _Had it been like this with Peggy, too?_

"Let's get out of here."

She suppressed the rush of feeling that swept over her as she watched him watch her, his long lashes veiling his eyes.

"That might be a little hard right now."

"As soon as we land, then. Let's just go somewhere."

She nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

He pulled her towards him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. Her hands stroked his back through the ribbed fabric of the suit.

They stayed together for a long moment, not needing words.

Finally, Anne leaned back, moving her hands to press against the sides of his waist.

"Go clean up."

Her voice was soft, intimate, familiar, like the awkwardness of the last few weeks hadn't happened. The sound of it made him lose his breath.

"Don't go anywhere."

"I won't."

* * *

When he came out of the bathroom, shaved, showered, and back in his civilian clothes, she was lying on her back on the tiny, single bed with a magazine. As she sat up, Steve could feel the helicarrier begin its descent.

When they landed, he took her by the hand, and led her off of the carrier, not caring who saw.

* * *

They were on the road later that day, driving out of the city limits on Steve's Harley-Davidson. With her safely behind him and out of sight, Steve let himself feel her: her arms warm around him, hands on his chest, clutching the leather of his jacket as they passed around sharp curves, her legs squeezing his hips as the bike hummed beneath them.

They spent the weekend in some nameless, quaint New England town, lounging in parks, sipping lemonade, pretending the world back in the city didn't exist, and retreating to separate hotel rooms at the end of the night with an unvoiced reluctance that increased every day.

Later, when they were back in New York, Steve would secretly congratulate himself on making it through the weekend with only one incident that could be described as unfriendly. The night before they left, after the first really warm day of the summer, they had lingered a little too long as they said goodnight in the hotel hallway. He had brought his hand up to trace the curve of her waist, and she had moved forward towards him without thinking. "I'll see you in the morning," he had whispered, close enough to see the lamplight reflect off of her newly-tanned skin, close enough to feel her warmth under his hand, close enough to kiss her. As soon as the thought entered his head, he forced himself to step away from her, to go back to his own room as she went back to hers. They were back on the road by sunup.

* * *

Notes: To me, Bruce is a natural choice to push these two together, because he's kind of anti-S.H.I.E.L.D., and because it seems like he would be generally in favor of other people being happy even if/because he can't be.

Steve's characterization in this is largely based off of my interpretation of him in Captain America, compassionate to a fault, but capable of being sad, or jealous, or angry. I hope it seems true to character.

Also, there's not going to be a lot of action in this story (well, there will be _some_ action – it's rated M for a reason), so generally I'm pulling the curtain down on battle scenes, or bringing it up right after.

Thanks to ym4yum1 for reviewing, and thanks to all future reviewers. Getting feedback definitely encourages continuing this story. The next chapter (which will be uploaded sooner than this one was) is one of my favorites.


	5. Chapter 5

_June_

Steve drifted in and out of consciousness. During his more lucid moments, he recognized that his teammates had gotten him onto the floor of the jet, that Dr. Banner, back to his regular size and clad in the sweatshirt and gym shorts he always brought as a change of clothes, was leaning over him, cutting away his suit. He was coherent enough to crane his neck back slightly and see that Clint and Natasha were in the cockpit, barking orders to each other as the plane lifted from the ground.

In the moments when he was awake, through the screaming, unendurable pain coming from his abdomen, he could see Thor seated against the hull of the jet, his head in his hands. He could see Tony, the helmet off, pacing nearby, shouting at Bruce until Bruce shouted back.

He thought of Bucky, whose broken and bloodied body had been too dangerous to retrieve. He thought of all his brothers-in-arms who had died in the war, who he had seen killed. He could feel that his hands were wet with blood. Now he would join them, forever young and strong, far from the confusion and pain and stink of battle.

It had been a hard fight that brought them to that moment on the floor of the jet. One of their hardest. No one on the team had escaped unscathed, but Steve had taken the worst of it. He had jumped too willingly into the fray, as he always did. Had not minded that he didn't have a suit of armor like Tony, or immortality like Thor.

The jet grew quiet. Beyond the searing pain, his torso felt stiff, bandaged. Steve had seen enough combat to know that this was the moment when all that could be done, was done, and it was only a matter of waiting to see if a hospital would be reached in time. He moaned; a sound that seemed unearthly, even to his ears.

"Jesus," Tony shouted, "he's awake."

In an instant, Tony and Bruce's faces hovered above him.

"You're going to be okay, Cap," said Bruce; his voice was reassuring but his eyes were troubled, "We'll be back home soon."

"How long?"

Tony shouted the question up to the cockpit. "Another hour," Natasha shouted back. Stark shifted impatiently, the metal suit rumbling.

Steve frowned, looking at the doctor squarely, searching his face. He felt drained and knew what he must look like: white as a sheet, bloodless, and covered in bandages. Slowly, Steve shook his head.

Bruce swallowed, "It's going to be okay. You just have to hang on a little longer."

"Not giving up. But don't mind it either," his voice grew weak. "Most everybody I know's done it."

Tony shook his head vigorously, looking at Bruce for help. "That's not true. Think about the team. We need you."

Even in this state, Steve couldn't help smiling. He didn't fit in with them, never had.

"Think about Anne, then," Bruce offered. Tony looked up at him sharply, but the mention of her made Steve turn his head to look at him. "You know it'd bust her into a million pieces if you didn't come back."

Steve nodded, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of pain as he faded back into darkness.

* * *

When he woke again, he was in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Intensive Care Unit.

Anne stood at the foot of his bed, examining pages on a clipboard. Her eyes raised when she realized he was awake.

"I should let Dr. Abernathy brief you on your injuries, but from what I'm seeing here, it looks like you suffered extensive trauma. The internal bleeding was patched up in surgery," she adjusted her glasses and flipped through the pages, "You'll notice a large hematoma on your left hip. It may be difficult to walk for a few days. There are also sixteen stitches above your right eyebrow. Be careful not to scratch them."

"Anne," he interrupted. The list of his injuries was turning his stomach.

She looked up at him; her expression was severe.

"If you were anyone else, this would have killed you."

His hand reached out, palm up, waiting for her little hand to fill it. She saw it, but hooked his clipboard on the end of the bed and shoved her hands in the pockets of her lab coat.

"I'll get Dr. Abernathy," she said as she turned and left.

* * *

Despite his accelerated healing, he was still having trouble walking days later. Being out of breath, feeling weak, only reminded him of what life had been like before the serum, so he tried to rest as much as possible, avoiding situations that could be too difficult for his healing body.

Owing to his sabbatical, he was able to avoid Fury's calls to meet at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters for briefings on the world's latest threats. For three days, he saw no one from S.H.I.E.L.D. or the Avengers Initiative.

On the fourth day, however, he found Tony Stark on his doorstep with a bucket of fried chicken and a six-pack. He made himself at home – pulling out plates, opening bottles.

As they ate, Tony offered an explanation for his presence: that he felt they had started on the wrong foot, and that now was as good a time as any to remedy it. Steve was grateful to find that Tony, full of verve, as always, was easier to talk to than he had assumed.

After the meal was done and plates cleared away, Tony, ever the host, even in someone else's home, ushered them to Steve's sofa. He shifted, settling in as Steve gingerly lowered himself onto the couch.

When Steve looked up at him, he was unexpectedly serious.

"So what's going on with you guys?"

"What?"

"You and the doc."

Steve frowned, "Nothing."

"Give me a break. I heard what Banner said to you in the jet. And I noticed that you were both M.I.A. after we got back last week."

"Nothing is going on," Steve repeated slowly, "S.H.I.E.L.D. has rules. She could lose her job."

Tony laughed. "She didn't tell you that, did she? That she was just following rules?"

Steve shrugged, looking away. Of course, she hadn't told him anything. Because nothing was going on between them.

"It's true, isn't it?" Steve offered.

"I guess you haven't noticed that half of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s Research and Development team is screwing the other half. Not to mention what Clint and Natasha do on their days off."

Steve bristled at the implication. He locked eyes with Tony, his expression darkening.

"So?"

"So, if that's what you're worried about, you're worried about the wrong thing."

"What are you trying to say?" he demanded, his patience ending.

"She's afraid she's going to fall in love with someone who's going to die."

It was the most sincere thing he had ever heard Tony say.

"Trust me," he continued, quietly "I know. This last time out? The way you came back? I saw the way she looked at you in the hospital. I've seen that look before."

Steve frowned. "There's nothing I can do about that. There's no quitting what we do."

"Exactly," Tony's dark eyes bored through him. "Whatever's going on with you two," Steve shot him a warning look and he threw up his hands defensively, "And I'm not saying anything _is_, but if something _were_, it'll just take time. None of this is normal, and when normal people – real people – walk into it, it isn't easy."

Steve leaned back into the cushions. He smirked to himself, looking down at the beer in his hands.

"What?"

"Your father gave me advice like this, a long time ago."

Tony scoffed, taking a swig, "Did he? Go figure."

Steve nodded, the idea of someone not caring about what their father did was foreign to him. For the next few hours, though, Tony proved an amiable companion, and when he left, Steve wasn't sorry he had come.

* * *

Steve returned to S.H.I.E.L.D. the next week. The team welcomed him back warmly enough, but all he could think of was finding Anne.

After searching her office, the lab, and every other vacant are of the headquarters, he finally found her in one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s smaller, less-used hangars, empty and quiet, sitting on a concrete ledge that ran along the wall.

She looked up at him when he entered, disturbing the vast silence of the space.

"Welcome back," she said, her voice expressionless, her eyes not meeting his.

He approached her slowly, carefully, remembering how she had been the last time he saw her. "What's going on?" he asked, cautiously. "Are you…" he cringed at the inanity of the question, which seemed so much smaller than them, "Are you mad at me?"

Her gaze remained fixed in the ground front of her. She waited a long while before answering. When she spoke, her voice was so quiet he had to strain to hear it. "No. It's just…I don't like it when my friends get hurt."

He sat down next to her, sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I guess we all got pretty beat up this time."

Her brow creased and she looked up at him. Her eyes, dark and serious, were fixed on his.

"I don't like it when _you_ get hurt."

Steve felt his insides melt. It was the most – _the most – _she had ever actually said to him. He shifted closer to her and she looked away.

"Anne."

Her head shook, her eyes sliding shut, just for a moment, "S.H.I.E.L.D. has rules about this kind of thing."

Knowing what she was saying, he felt a shiver go through his whole body. The thing he had hoped for most, the thing that had consumed him for weeks, months, was true. It had taken him nearly dying on that plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean for it to finally come out, but there it was.

When she looked up at him again, her eyes were watery, the tip of her nose turning red, but her voice didn't waver. "I'm not your friend, Steve. I can't be."

Steve shook his head, the idea that she was rejecting him made his gorge rise. He slid off the ledge, and moved in front of her, standing where she couldn't ignore him, couldn't push him away. Impulsively, he lifted his hands to the sides of her face, his fingers buried in her hair.

She let out a strangled cry, as though his gentle touch hurt her, but he didn't stop. Steve's arms moved around her shoulders, pulling her forward until she was on her feet. They stood like that for a long while; wrapped around each other – his arms around her shoulders, her arms curled around his waist.

"Then don't," his lips brushed against her hair. He whispered, as though what he was saying was a secret – something powerful and sacred, "Don't be my friend. Be this. Let's just be this."

She leaned back to look up at him, her hands pressed lightly against his chest. The sight of her, hair tousled, eyes dark with grief and longing, made his heart ache. She opened her mouth to speak, but the sudden press of his lips against hers silenced her.

For a moment, they both froze. Steve felt his heart stop. But then Anne's eyes slid shut, she pressed the length of her body against him, her hands slid up to his shoulders, and any hesitation or nervousness he might have had was immediately banished.

Her lips parted slightly, and his tongue brushed hers. In an instant, Steve was on fire. His arms grabbed her around the waist, pulling her even closer. He could feel her heart pounding against his chest.

For a full four minutes, they were both lost; bodies entwined, he moved to trace wet kisses along her jawline and down her neck, feeling dizzy with disbelief. Her breathing quickened as he brought up a hand to pull the neck of her shirt aside, his mouth pressed against her collarbone.

Anne's hands stroked the short hair at the nape of his neck. She stumbled backwards until the backs of her legs were pressed against the ledge. Steve cradled her against him, her legs parted as he slid a long, muscular thigh between them. She gasped, "Steve, _please_."

He kissed her again, but it wasn't gentle or new, like the first time. The second kiss was faster, rougher, more desperate, a sign that this was a contact they had both craved. Their hands clutched each other. Steve felt a familiar rushing sensation to his groin and tried to shift away, to avoid making her uncomfortable, but she pressed against him brazenly and he groaned, feeling his composure shattering.

Suddenly, she pulled away, her hands pressed firmly against his chest. "Wait—"

Steve felt his heart crack at the word. He felt undone, overwhelmed, pressing hard against her hip. He moved to pull her back against him, but she stopped him.

"No. Not here," as soon as the breathless words, full of unspoken intention, left her mouth, Steve saw her face change. Her eyes cleared, her back straightened.

She cleared her throat. Her face was an unreadable mask; her voice was flat.

"I should get back to work." Steve felt himself wilt, but she was still in his arms, even if it was only for a little while longer.

They stayed pressed together for another moment before she slowly, reluctantly, pulled away.

* * *

Within minutes, Anne was back in her office, forgetting to close the door behind her in her haste to get out of the way, to hide before she completely broke down. She could still taste him, could still feel him warm around her. It was the thing she had wanted most in the world, and at the same time, the thing she had been most afraid of.

She found herself leaning over her desk, her back to the door, struggling to control the fast, ragged breaths that foretold imminent tears.

"Excuse me."

Anne started and swore at the sound of the voice behind her, light and feminine. Wiping her hands across her cheeks, she turned.

"Is this a bad time?"

"No, of course not," Anne insisted, pulling tissues out of a box. The other woman looked at her skeptically. "I have allergies," she muttered.

Seemingly satisfied, the tall redhead stepped forward. "I'm Pepper Potts," she extended her hand in greeting, "I'm with Tony Stark."

Anne nodded as she shook her hand brusquely, trying to conceal the fact that her hands had been shaking since she left the hangar.

"I think we met at that Christmas thing at Stark Tower," she offered, trying to seem polite, but wanting only to be left alone.

"Oh, right. Of course." Pepper nodded absently, obviously not remembering her. "I've been looking for you, actually. Tony said you'd be here."

"Oh?"

"Well," she began, smiling and rolling her eyes self-deprecatingly, "there's not a lot of us superhero girlfriends in the world. I thought maybe we could get coffee later, or whenever works for you, of course."

"I'm sorry?" Anne felt her insides turn to ice.

"Oh, Tony told me about you and the Cap."

Anne looked up at her, dumbfounded, feeling a rush of blood to her cheeks. She shook her head, "I…Mr. Stark is mistaken. We're not…" She trailed off, feeling manic, tears stinging the backs of her eyes.

Pepper's eyes narrowed. "Really? He seemed pretty sure."

"No," she said, a little too forcefully, "No. I don't know why he would say a thing like that."

The redhead held her hands up in mock-defense. "Okay. I get it." She glanced at her watch, "I'm supposed to meet Tony in, like, ten minutes. I'll…I'll see you around."

Though Anne felt on the brink of collapse, something rational in her understood that Pepper might be the only woman on earth who could hope to understand her dilemma. She swallowed, trying to push away the emotion that threatened to overcome her.

"Wait."

Standing in the doorway, Pepper turned back.

"When they come back so hurt, how do you…_cope_?"

The other woman's expression softened.

"Last summer, when Tony went through that _thing_, when he fell out of it, I thought I'd finally lost him. I went hours thinking he was gone."

Anne's brow furrowed.

"The answer to your question is, there is no coping. No relief. They get beat up, torn up, come back half-dead. And every time it feels like having your heart ripped out of your chest."

Pepper took a step closer.

"But when Tony comes back, after he's all patched up, there is _nothing_ in this world as wonderful as holding him again. And then somehow all the pain seems worth it." She paused for a moment, looking at Anne warily, "Is that what it's like for you, too?"

Anne thought of all the times Steve had come back. The months when, after major battles, she would stop by his apartment after work just to see for herself that he was alright. She thought of the times she had seen him after especially tough fights, when he had pulled her into his arms;, the times when, with her head buried against his shoulder, she had silently thanked the universe for letting her have him for one more moment.

She looked at Pepper squarely, hesitating only for a moment. "Yes."

The two women looked at each other for a long moment, each with a new knowledge of the other.

Finally, Anne cleared her throat, "You're going to be late."

Pepper smiled and nodded. She hesitated for a moment before crossing the room boldly, putting a hand on Anne's shoulder. "It'll be alright," she told her, "You'll see."

Anne couldn't hold her gaze. She looked at her hands.

"Thank you," she said, her voice thick with emotion and nearly unrecognizable. Pepper nodded again and left, leaving her alone.

* * *

Notes: Thanks for the lovely reviews, ym4yum1 and pollyzillatron! While Bruce is the "wise uncle" of the group who can nudge them together, I feel like Tony (and Pepper) have the experience to address the more specific problems that arise once they get closer, hence their scenes in this chapter. Might be a little wait until the next chapter, but it's coming :)

Hope you all enjoyed! Reviews are very, very appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

Warning: This story is rated M. If explicit sexual situations between consenting adults make you uncomfortable or are generally uninteresting to you, turn back now. Otherwise, come sit next to me.

It makes me sad that this is the least reviewed of my stories here. I'm not above begging for reviews, so I'd love to hear any feedback or thoughts you all might have. There's still more, so let me know if you're interested in seeing it. Thanks again to ym4yum1 for reviewing!

* * *

It was days before he was alone with her again. She had spent a week studiously avoiding him, finding any reason to get away whenever he was near. When he finally found her, alone in her office with no excuses, he had frozen up, so consumed by his desire for things to between them to be normal that he couldn't form a complete thought.

He was standing in front of her desk, his hands in his pockets. "Can't we just…just…"

She looked up at him, her lips pursed. The sight of him, the fact that they were alone together for the first time since the hangar, made something – the thing that she had tried so valiantly to destroy – stir inside her.

She sighed in resignation, "Come by my place tonight. I don't want to go to Brooklyn; it's too far. It's your fault for living out of the city."

He smiled gratefully. Maybe for a little while they couldpretend like that day in the hangar hadn't changed anything. She started gathering her things, insisting that she had a meeting to attend. As she walked away, she continued. "I have movies, you bring food. Thai, maybe? I don't know. You decide."

By the time he was back at his own apartment, much later that night, he felt better knowing that they could still talk to each other, that he could still make her laugh until she snorted, and she could still make him feel like a whole person. There was still distance – the way she shrank back when he got too close made his stomach drop and his heart ache – but she was still in his life, and that had to be enough.

* * *

_July_

"Are you busy?"

A moment before, he had let himself into her office, letting the door click shut behind him. Anne looked up, paused, shook her head. Steve sat down in the chair opposite her desk, handing her a manila folder. His eyes shifted around the room nervously. She had never seen him so agitated.

"Fury gave me this this morning."

She looked at the folder in her hands, opening it slowly to reveal a black and white photograph of a dark haired woman with dark lipstick. The text next to the image described a woman named Margaret Carter, with a current address in New Haven, Connecticut.

"Who is she? Margaret?"

"Peggy," he corrected. "Someone I knew during the war. I knew she was alive, but I didn't know she was so close until – until that." He pointed to the document in her hand.

Anne looked up at him. The truth behind what he was saying hung between them. He had loved this woman, whose photograph she held in her hands. She might have loved him, too; they might have been lovers. Anne ran the name through her mind over and over, but couldn't remember him ever mentioning her.

Anne glanced at the paperwork again, finding Agent Carter's date of birth.

"She's 95 years old."

He shrugged, "So am I."

She raised an eyebrow, her eyes still fixed on the papers in front of her, "Not physically."

He coughed nervously and she looked up. He was blushing.

She cleared her throat, mumbling something about her "medical opinion."

"New Haven is only an hour and a half away," she looked up at him, seeing how the suggestion made his jaw set.

He nodded, "Okay."

* * *

Anne rented a sedan, having sold her car when she left California, and drove them out to New Haven and into the suburbs, winding through calm, tree-lined streets.

"There," he said, pointing out the passenger-side window at a squat, green, craftsman-style house, "4381."

The car slid to a stop along the curb and went quiet as Anne turned off the ignition. A long, silent moment passed between them. Steve stared at the house, his face hidden from her.

She touched his forearm where it rested on the center console, pulling her hand away quickly when his head turned towards her, his eyes meeting hers.

"Do you…do you want me to go up with you?"

He shook his head, looking at his lap, his eyes slid shut. "I can't do this." A wave of sadness, of grief, of embarrassment and self-consciousness, overcame him. If _she_ was in that house, everything - his life - would be really real.

Anne's fingers closed around his wrist, sliding down into the palm of his hand.

"You can. Do you want me to go up? Without you?" Steve's jaw clenched as he struggled to regain control over his emotions. He nodded, and without another word, she slipped out of the car. The hand that had just held hers curled into a fist.

* * *

"Hello," Anne said, adjusting her glasses, smiling, and trying to look non-threatening as the door opened to reveal a petite, blonde woman. She cringed inwardly, guessing the woman to be barely twenty years old, and certainly not the woman she was looking for.

"I'm not sure if I have the right house. I'm looking for Peggy Carter."

The girl nodded, "I'm her niece, Sharon. Is she expecting you?"

"No, no. I'm here on behalf of a friend of hers. An old friend. A friend from the war." One of the girl's eyebrows raised and she moved aside, gesturing her in. Anne cast a hesitant glance back to the car and stepped inside.

The girl led her to a sunny living room, filled with potted plants and overstuffed sofas. Black and white photographs lined the walls. Peggy Carter, white-haired and well dressed, sat near a window, a book open in her lap. Sharon took the seat next to her aunt, while Anne sat opposite them.

"I'm Dr. Anne Spring," Anne began, "I'm – I work for S.H.I.E.L.D." The elderly woman arched an eyebrow. "We have a mutual friend who would very much like to see you again, but he didn't quite know…" Anne hesitated, taking in the older woman's drooping eyelids and shaky hands, "He didn't want it to come as too much of a shock."

"Is that so?" Despite her age, Peggy's voice was clear and strong. "You must be mistaken. All my friends are long gone. Except for Sharon here," she patted her niece's knee.

Anne glanced at the young woman, who smiled indulgently at her aunt. There was no telling what she knew, what Peggy had told her about her past, about her work with the Strategic Scientific Reserve. She took a deep breath, struggling to formulate a way to encode what she needed to say next.

"It's…Steve." Peggy straightened, frowned, her brows knitted together. Any trace of the tired old woman was suddenly gone. "He was ill – I'm his doctor – but I'm happy to say he's made a full recovery. He's in the car. I can – I can get him."

Peggy's face clenched and she nodded. It was all the assent Anne needed, and she was back at the car in an instant, breathlessly explaining the situation to Steve and pulling him through the front door.

On Sharon's arm, Peggy had made it to the house's foyer just as they entered. No introductions were needed. Peggy cried out, her hand covering her mouth. Without a word, as if no time at all had passed, Steve wrapped his arms around her. Letting go of Sharon, Peggy's frail arms wrapped around his waist. Before she and Sharon left the room, Anne heard him say softly, his voice thick with emotion, "I had to come back for that dance." Something in Anne's chest tightened as she followed Sharon into the kitchen.

* * *

Peggy led him into a small sitting room. By the way she leaned on his arm, he could tell that she needed the support to walk.

She had seen the news reports of Loki's attack in New York, but she hadn't believed it was really him. When he explained the years he spent in the ice, her eyes welled up with tears.

"We could have found you. We _should_ have. Howard never stopped looking."

He shook his head, taking her hand.

She told him what her life had become over the past decades. She had married briefly in the years after his death, but her husband, an Army lieutenant, had been killed in Korea. After that, she hadn't bothered to remarry. She had taken custody of her niece when her sister and brother-in-law were killed in a car accident, and the young woman had been her only companion.

He had less to share. He told her about the Avengers Initiative, about S.H.I.E.L.D. She shook her head in wonder at the idea that he was working with Howard Stark's son.

"What about that woman you came with? Your doctor?" she asked.

He explained that she wasn't really his doctor, though she had been once. "She's—She's a friend."

She smiled, reaching up a hand to run her fingers through his hair. Though her face was aged, her eyes were just as he remembered: dark and knowing. Suddenly, he felt himself pulled under. He leaned forward, his forearms on his knees, unable to look at her.

"This is too hard, Peggy."

Her hand was on his shoulder.

"That doesn't sound like you."

"I wanted so many things." When he looked up at her again, his face was dry but his eyes were red-rimmed, "Everything is gone now."

"Not everything," her voice lowered. "You have a mission, Captain Rogers. And a friend. Two, in fact, if I may be so bold."

She smiled at him until he smiled back.

They stayed together for another half an hour, not talking much, but with his hand in hers, her fingers tracing the curves of his knuckles.

When Steve and Anne were back in the car, he pressed his head back against his headrest, his eyes shut, his breathing shallow.

"I can't go back to S.H.I.E.L.D. Not right now." The thought of going from this moment, a moment that had practically wrenched his heart from his body, to the sterile hallways of S.H.I.E.L.D. sent a shudder through him. The idea of having to interact with any of his team on a day like this one made bile rise in his throat.

Anne just nodded and drove him back to her apartment.

He asked to use her shower, and she showed him to the bathroom, unearthing a soft, clean towel from her linen closet. After a half hour, the shower still hadn't been turned on. A soft knock on the door brought only silence, so she cracked it open just enough to see him.

He sat on the floor, wearing only his briefs, his back pressed against the side of the bathtub. His legs were bent, his elbows on his knees, his face in his hands. He stifled a sob as she entered.

For a moment, her medical training rose to the front of her mind – was he in shock? Had he fallen? She cringed inwardly; it wasn't the time for clinical analyses.

She knelt next to him, her hand on his shoulder.

"Steve?"

He looked up at her, his face tear stained and red. He made a strangled, whimpering noise as she pulled his huge form against her, wrapping her arms around his bare shoulders. She felt too small; she found herself wishing that she was big enough to make him feel surrounded and safe, the way he made her feel. After a moment, his arms folded around her waist, his face buried against her shoulder.

He was quiet for a long while. She stroked the back of his head and neck.

"Why don't you get some rest?" she murmured near his ear.

He nodded.

She grabbed a towel, pulled it around his shoulders and led him to her bedroom. He stood still, dazed, as she turned down the covers. He laid the towel at the foot of the bed and slid under the covers in his skivvies. There was a time when he would have been mortified to be seen like this, especially by a woman, but, he told himself, she was a doctor, and it was different. Through the heavy blankets, she touched his shoulder, turned off the light and turned to leave.

"Stay for a minute"

She knew she shouldn't, especially after the reminder of how well his body fit against hers. But the thought of him, warm and nearly naked in her bed sent a wave of heat through her. As though in a trance, she felt herself slide under the sheets next to him. He sighed and closed his eyes.

* * *

When they woke, the sun had gone down and the room was dark. Steve felt her, warm next to him, before realizing that she was more than next to him – she was wrapped around him, and he around her. His arms were folded around her slender shoulders, her arm was draped across the bare curve of his waist. Even their legs were somehow entangled. She snored softly against his shoulder.

Anne shifted, her head lifting slightly. As the full realization of what had happened while they were sleeping hit her, she jerked suddenly against the circle of his arms. "I'm sorry," she gasped.

"Don't," he interjected quickly, "It's okay." She relaxed a little, settled back against his shoulder. His left arm curled around her; his hand stroked her back through her shirt. It felt right to touch her, and by the way she sighed and pressed her palm against his side, it seemed that she felt the same. It fixed nothing to lie there in the dark and hold her, but after a while it made him feel better.

Then, caught up in the moment – the moment of being awake with Anne in the middle of the night in her bed – Steve slid a hand under the back of her blouse. Placed on the bare skin at the small of her back, his long fingers spanned her waist. Not sure how the move would be received, he froze, but her head shifted against his shoulder, her lips brushed his chest.

After a while, Steve brought his free hand to cup her cheek, letting his fingers wind into her hair. In a moment of deep surprise, he found that she brought a hand to hold him there, turning her face until her lips kissed the soft pad of his palm. His jaw clenched involuntarily, fighting down the urge to pull her closer.

"Are you okay?" she whispered into the dark.

He paused, taking stock for a moment as he formulated an answer. Finding Peggy had been devastating. It was proof that his life would never be what it was. Even Anne's touch couldn't fully erase that.

"Not really, Doc," he murmured.

Through the darkness, he could almost see her frown. She moved closer to him, nestling her body against his. It was inescapably true that he had lost everything, an entire life he had been in the middle of living, but there was _her_, the only thing he still wanted.

He swallowed, trying to clear away the lump in his throat. "Dr. Banner – Bruce – said to me that if we – any of us – have a chance for happiness, we should take it."

In the dark, he could feel her tilt her face up towards his. The memory of the last moment they had been this close, and the memory of the weeks that had followed it, hung heavy between them. When he spoke again, she had to strain to hear him.

"S.H.I.E.L.D. would never know. No one would have to know. It could be just for us."

Her fingers touched his bare chest and he felt sure she could feel his heart pounding. She sighed, but said nothing. Steve could have grabbed her by the shoulders and shaken her until she said _something_, but, of course, he didn't.

His arms tightened around her, and they drifted back to sleep.

* * *

Steve was jolted awake by her fists against his chest. Her eyes were closed, her breathing fast. Soft, mewling noises came from the back of her throat.

Her arms swung out and he held on to her, pulling her against him until her eyes opened and her thrashing stilled.

"Anne—" he began, his face lined with worry.

She shook her head, "I'm okay. It's just this dream I've been having."

"What about?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm awake now."

She was still breathing hard, her chest heaving against his. Where he had been full of concern a moment before, a wave of desire shot through him.

They had been lying together so long, he had forgotten what it was like not to touch her. She was warm under him, and he felt wild, primitive, male. He had loved Peggy, cared for her like he cared for Anne, but _this. _It felt entirely new.

Her little hands were splayed across his shoulders. His skin felt hot, twitchy. Dipping his head towards her, he nuzzled the side of her neck, inhaling the scent of her: earthy and rich.

"You smell good," his voice was low and gravelly. She shifted and he could feel her coming more fully out of sleep, could feel her body humming with unspent energy, like his.

She whispered his name into the darkness. "That day in the hangar-"

She hesitated and he froze, his face close to hers. Her hands slid across his shoulders and traced the muscles in his arms. She looked up at him, her expression at once guilty and indulgent. She sighed, and in the quiet sound Steve heard everything: the memory of that afternoon, the memory of his lips against hers, had haunted her too.

Impulsively, he pressed his mouth against the soft curve where her neck met her shoulder. She gasped, her body curved up against him receptively, and he could feel himself come undone.

His hands moved to her waist, boldly sliding under her shirt, running across the expanse of her back. As he pressed kisses up the column of her neck, his fingers fumbled with her bra clasp for a moment before tearing it apart, his hands sliding up to her bare shoulders. She gave a soft cry when the bra tore, hooking a leg around his, her hips pressing against him. One of her hands was spread across his shoulder, the other in his hair.

When his lips brushed hers, when her lips parted and their tongues met, it was like a starting pistol had gone off. He settled himself between her legs, grinding against her until her breath caught and she moaned into his mouth. They parted only long enough for her to pull her shirt over her head, discarding the ruined bra.

Steve set his jaw, struggling to maintain his composure as his hands rose to cup her bare breasts, the calloused pads of his fingertips tracing the rosy peaks of her nipples.

Her fingers ran down his back, slipped into the waistband of his briefs.

"Wait."

Steeling himself, he leaned back, forcing himself to pull away from her. Even in the dim light, he could see her tousled hair dark against the pillow, her lips swollen and pink from his kisses. The sight sent a fresh wave of need through him.

He swallowed, trying to clear his head, "I haven't…I haven't done this before."

While the fact of his virginity was not one he openly shared, he had lived with it so long he was no longer embarrassed by it.

"Oh," Anne whispered, her hands retreating to the sides of his waist. She couldn't help a feeling a satisfaction in finding the answer to some of her earlier speculations about his relationship with Peggy. "We don't have to—"

He shook his head vigorously. "It's not that. I just thought you should know, in case—" He winced as a series of humiliating worst-case-scenarios flashed through his mind.

But Anne just smiled, brushing his hair from his eyes and leaning up to kiss him. It was slow and deliberate this time, the frantic groping of their first kisses set aside.

Pushing his nerves away, Steve trailed kisses back down her neck, down her chest, between her breasts, down the soft curve of her stomach, hearing her breath quicken as he went. Feeling emboldened by her responsiveness, he gingerly unbuttoned her blue jeans, sliding them off her hips and down her legs. He left her underwear, not yet feeling quite that bold, but as he rose to embrace her again he could feel her pull them off and kick them away.

The idea that she was so ready for him sent a rush of blood to his groin, made him feel delirious. But the realization that he was in bed with a naked woman, with a naked _Anne_, and that he, too, was nearly naked, made him freeze up momentarily. He could fly into battle against demons, against gods, without a moment's hesitation but in that moment, faced with something so remarkably personal and intimate, he felt suddenly immobilized.

Sensing his hesitation, Anne stilled. He could see her bite her lower lip nervously.

"Steve?" Given the situation, her voice was strangely shy, but the sound of it snapped him out of his reverie.

"Are you sure?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. His body pressed against hers, seemingly of its own accord.

She nodded. In the dim light, her eyes suddenly looked glassy. Her lips parted as though she might speak, but the words caught in her throat. She pressed a kiss to his cheek and he smiled. Whatever else S.H.I.E.L.D. took from them, they would never have this.

Amidst the wave of feeling that threatened to overcome him, Steve forced himself to think responsibly.

"Should we- Shouldn't we have…a rubber?"

Her fingers combed through his hair, her eyes dark with arousal. "It's okay," she breathed, "I'm healthy, and I know you are. And I'm on the pill."

"The pill?"

Steve's hands were on her hips, sliding to cup her buttocks. Against her thigh, she could feel him straining against the thin cotton of his briefs.

She shook her head. The feel of him, hot and heavy over her, the feel of his rough hands on her body, rendered the idea of explaining the history of the sexual revolution to him in that moment unthinkable.

"Trust me; it's safe. I'll tell you later."

He murmured his assent and pressed his lips against hers, feeling a thrill go down his spine at the knowledge that there were no more hurdles left to jump.

He shifted above her, his hands on her hips positioned her under him. Her knees brushed the sides of his waist. Out of ideas, he sighed appreciatively as she reached between them, sliding his briefs down. Her slender fingers wrapped around his erection and, for a moment, neither of them breathed. Gently, she guided him towards her and positioned his tip against the heat of her. She smiled slightly, "Now you."

His hips moved forward. As he slid into her fully, she gave a little cry and he jerked up, his eyes searching her face.

"Are you okay? Am I crushing you?"

She was breathless and flushed, her skin was hot under his touch. "No, no. It's just—You're very…" She struggled to find a way to compliment him without obviously revealing that, unlike him, she had something to compare this to.

Understanding her, he couldn't help feeling a rush of masculine pride. "The one part of me that didn't need the serum."

She smiled and nodded, wriggling her hips against his until he started to move inside her in long, deep strokes that made her hands grip his biceps and her legs wrap around his waist.

"Is this right?" he asked, sweat beading on his forehead and back.

"_Yes_. Yes," she moaned, her back arched.

It was unlike anything he had experienced before. The feel of her, hot and slick and wrapped around him, made his head spin; made him feel drugged. There was something else, too; something that pooled in his stomach, rose through his chest, caught in his throat. He wouldn't realize until later that what he had felt was relief, the kind of relief he hadn't felt for much of his unsettled life. To be with her was to find respite from a darkness much more insidious than any of the monsters he had fought.

The first time didn't last long. He came with a growl. Her arms clutched him against her, holding him together as he spent, feeling both wild and at peace.

He slid out of her reluctantly, but stayed pressed against her. Even through his inexperience, he could tell that she was still tense, that she hadn't followed him into ecstasy.

"How...What can I do?"

Without hesitating, she brought his hand between her legs, showed him how to touch her, and where. He marveled at the way she fluttered and clenched under his fingers until at last she shuddered and came.

Exhausted, sated, they both sank to sleep.

When they woke again, it could have been minutes later, or hours or days. A misty, grey light filtered through the room's only window, signaling that a return to normalcy would soon be required. That they would need to rise, shower, make themselves ready for the day.

But none of that happened, because as Anne woke, Steve's mouth and hands were on her breasts, and she could feel him hard against her hip. Smiling, she pushed against his shoulders until he was on his back. She straddled his hips, determined to show him something new.

* * *

They made love deep into the afternoon, until they were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat, until they were spent and boneless, until it had been hours since they had worn anything. They had tried every position she could think of, and a few of their own invention. She had taught him how to use his mouth on her, and how she could use hers on him. Mid-morning, he had surprised her by refusing to let her shower, wanting to smell and taste himself on her as long as possible.

Around noon, Steve's cell phone rang, the screen indicating that Bruce was on the other end of the line. He hesitated, but Anne raised her eyebrows expectantly, pulling a sheet around herself as though answering the phone was the same as inviting someone else into the room.

Steve answered.

"Are you okay?" Bruce demanded, real worry in his voice, "No one's seen or heard from you all day."

"I'm fine. I'm not feeling well. Everything's fine."

"Hm. Have you heard from Anne? The folks in the lab haven't seen her, either."

"Anne's fine," he cringed as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, "I'm sure Anne's fine."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line.

"Okay," Bruce said slowly, "I'll try her cell."

After they hung up, Anne's phone never rang.

* * *

They were still in bed when the sun through Anne's window turned golden, the afternoon settling into dusk. "I must look awful," she murmured, sitting up and running a hand through the rat's nest that her hair had become.

He grabbed her arm, pulled her down on top of him. He kissed her, and she smiled against his mouth as he hooked her leg over his hips. "Such stamina," she whispered. He brought a hand between her legs, feeling his body grow taut as he caressed her, still sodden from their last bout.

He positioned himself under her and she slid onto him slowly, too tender from the day's exertions to do it any other way. His eyes were bright, his pupils dilated, "'S beautiful."

"What is?"

"Everything. You."

She sighed, her hands running across his chest. To have him in her bed all day, to touch him everywhere, to feel his hands on her, to babble nonsense at each other like lovers, was overwhelming.

"Anne," he murmured, "This is real, isn't it?"

She leaned over and kissed him, warm and wet, her hips moving against his, "Yes."

"You love me?" His hands were in her hair, kissing her back as his hips pushed up against her.

She stilled, the pause making him look at her. Her eyes met his.

"Yes," she whispered, her hands sliding around his shoulders, "So much. And you're mine?"

"Yours."


	7. Chapter 7

"Feeling better, Cap?"

Steve nodded brusquely at Bruce, striding into the S.H.I.E.L.D. Command Center. He, Bruce, and Tony were early for Fury's daily briefing. He joined them at a large table emblazoned with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo.

"What'd I miss?"

Neither answered. Tony beamed at him. Bruce rolled his eyes.

"You didn't _miss_ anything. You've been on love leave."

"What?" Steve managed to inject an appropriate degree of indignation into his voice, knowing when Tony was about to wind him up.

"_Please_. You were on speakerphone yesterday, and now you come in here with a spring in your step, so to speak." He leaned back in his chair, his hands folded behind his head, pleased at his own joke. "Anyway, no one would believe _you_ would need a sick day."

Steve glowered for a moment, at once embarrassed at how obvious he had been, at the same time forcing himself to push down an immodest rush of self-satisfaction.

As he opened his mouth to defend himself, Fury entered, followed by Natasha and Clint, putting an end to any further discussion.

* * *

_Mid July_

Anne didn't notice it until she was signing and dating one of Natasha's routine check-up forms. The realization made her stomach drop. She hurried to the lab as quickly as her feet would take her, finding Bruce hunched over his latest project. He looked up at her.

"Steve's birthday was last week," she announced unceremoniously.

Bruce's eyes widened. "Shit."

"I know."

He reached for his cell phone. "I'll tell Tony. He'll know what to do."

She hesitated, and he could sense her trepidation.

"Come on, he loves this kind of thing. And when was the last time either of us threw a party?"

She crumpled, knowing he was right. "Just…nothing embarrassing, okay? You know how he is. How they both are."

The team had seen a lot of action over the past few days; a new, still-nameless threat seemed to be rising, causing havoc in pockets across the country. When they returned, after Anne had seen to Natasha, she and Steve would rush back to her apartment and fall into bed together. Amidst the fighting and lovemaking, there had been little time to think of birthdays.

* * *

To her surprise, the whole thing was prepared by that evening. It had been decided that Bruce would get him to Stark Tower, that that's where everything would be waiting. She was just packing her things away in the S.H.I.E.L.D. lab when Steve walked in. Her lips pursed. This was already going against the plan.

Anne had instituted (and Steve had agreed to) a strict no-contact policy at S.H.I.E.L.D., knowing there were cameras everywhere. As busy as they had been, it had only been a problem when they found themselves alone together in her office or the lab, something that had once been a part of their everyday routine. Now, with their rules firmly in place, being alone together at S.H.I.E.L.D. had quickly become intolerable.

Without saying anything, he moved towards her until he was right next to her, heat radiating off of him, making her jaw clench as she battled her need to touch him, trying not to forget about the evening's plans entirely.

He dipped his head closer to hers. His voice no more than a whisper.

"I missed you today."

She had woken up in his bed that morning. Staying at his apartment still sent a thrill through her. She liked seeing his things, utilitarian and masculine: his razor, his simple bar of green soap in the shower, the line of button-down shirts hung in his closet. She liked waking up rolled in bedsheets that smelled like him.

Below the table, low enough not to be visible on the lab's surveillance cameras, his hand wound around her hip, pulling her closer as he stepped forward.

Her face was tilted up towards his, trying to look at him seriously, "No touching."

His hips met hers and her hands fisted at her sides, determined to follow their rules, even as they were broken, even as she felt herself melt against him.

"Let's go," he murmured, his breath hot against her cheek, "I need you."

She swallowed nervously. The plan was in danger of falling to pieces, in no small part due to her quickly crumbling resolve. _Where the hell was Bruce?_

The universe answered her unspoken question almost immediately. Behind them, Bruce knocked loudly on one of the lab tables, announcing his entrance and sending them flying apart. Creating an elaborate story about new equipment at Stark Tower that needed to be reviewed immediately, Bruce managed to get Steve to reluctantly leave with him

* * *

Forced to follow behind Steve and Bruce at a long, undetectable distance, things were already in full swing when Anne arrived at Stark Tower. It made her smile to see Steve surrounded by well-wishers, high-ranking S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, Dr. Abernathy, his team, even Fury himself. Pepper cornered Anne, still eager for them to be friends, and they spent most of their night drinking in a corner together, deep in conversation.

After an hour, Tony pressed a series of buttons, lowering a screen and a projector. He stood on a chair, holding his hands aloft. "Ladies and gentlemen, your attention please." The room quieted. "We're all here today to celebrate, belatedly, our fearless leader's birthday. I can't say I've known Steve long, but like many of us, I've known _of_ him for as long as I can remember. What you're about to see is something my old man kept. I'm under orders not to embarrass you, Cap, but I think he would have liked for you to see this again," he waved a hand, "JARVIS."

The lights dimmed. Images began flickering on the screen.

"WAR," a voice boomed, "WITH THE FORCES OF DARKNESS PRESSING IN FROM THE EAST, FROM THE WEST…"

There were three newsreels in all, each with scenes of Steve back in his old uniform, standing tall alongside a series of famous faces, marching his men through ruined cities, in heavy combat. At the center of attention, Steve could feel himself shrink, but Bruce nudged his arm, and when he looked over, the older man smiled at him proudly.

Hours later, after most of the guests had gone and only Steve, Bruce, Tony, Pepper, and Anne remained (at Pepper's urgent request), Tony had called down the screen and projector again. "This one's my favorite," he announced, "But, like I said, I was told not to make this too humiliating even though it _is _your birthday. But, since we're among friends…" He trailed off, issuing orders to JARVIS to start the last film.

The final reel was one of his old _Captain America_ films, made long before he had fought his way to the front lines. Over a chorus of _Star Spangled Man_, a song he had heard countless times and had hoped never to hear again, he addressed the camera earnestly, urging his audience to buy victory bonds, the monologue intercut with staged battle scenes.

He looked over and saw Anne, her eyebrows raised. She looked over at him and grinned, positively delighted. He rolled his eyes, knowing she would never let him live it down.

As the screen went dark and the lights came up, Tony clapped him on the shoulder, "That song just never gets old, does it?"

* * *

Back at his apartment later that night, after they had finished what they had begun earlier in the lab, they lay undressed and pressed together. Leaning over her, propped up on his forearms, Steve wove his fingers into her hair.

Anne looked up at him sleepily and smiled, "My star-spangled man." Her index finger traced a star onto his bare chest.

He groaned, burying his blushing face against her shoulder. "We sold a lot of bonds."

She laughed, and he could feel it reverberate through his body. She stretched and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

"I bet you did."

* * *

_August_

They had been back from their last mission for almost a week. Steve had resumed his late-night training sessions, meeting up with Anne long after the rest of the building had emptied. It was on one of these routine nights, after he had finished showering and just pulled up and fastened his slacks and belt, when he heard the locker room door open behind him.

"Hello, Captain."

Turning, he saw Natasha smiling up at him. Confused by her presence and feeling exposed under her intense gaze, he quickly pulled a white t-shirt over his head.

"Agent Romanoff."

"Late night?"

He nodded, sitting on a bench to pull on socks and shoes. When he stood again, she was suddenly so close to him, he could practically hear her breathing.

His brow creased at the oddity of the situation, "Is something the matter?"

She shrugged, ignoring the question and moving even closer. She smiled, looking up at him coyly through her dark eyelashes.

"I was just all alone in my bunk. Thinking of you. Thinking how you might be alone tonight too."

She reached out, grabbing his belt buckle and tugging him towards her. He could feel his mouth fall open in surprise, suddenly immobilized by panic.

Steve cleared his throat. "I thought you and Agent Barton…"

She shook her head. "We're both adults, Cap. I don't see what's stopping us."

His mouth opened as if to speak, but hesitated.

Her free hand moved to the side of his waist. For a moment, Steve struggled to find a way to extract himself from the situation without embarrassing them both. Then, in a flash, he remembered who she was, what she did, and knew that something was wrong. Her uncharacteristic sweetness, the soft, frilly sundress she was wearing – neither were a part of her, just things she thought someone like him would like.

"What are you doing?"

Her hips brushed his, her breath was hot against his neck.

"What does it look like?" Her hands slid up his chest.

It was enough. He caught her wrists in his hands and her eyes snapped up to his.

"_What_ are you doing?" he growled, his face inches away from hers.

Behind her, the door opened again. Steve looked up, Natasha's head whipped around. Halfway across the locker room's tile floor, Anne stood frozen. Wearing a trench coat, a purse slung over her shoulder, obviously on her way home.

Steve released his grip on Natasha's wrists, glancing anxiously at Anne. Natasha watched him intently. After a silent moment, Anne spoke.

"Agent Romanoff. I've been looking for you." Steve silently thanked God that she had the presence of mind to come up with an excuse for being there.

Natasha turned to face her, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "So naturally you checked the men's locker room at midnight."

"I wasn't wrong," she smiled nervously, "I, um, your test results are in. Maybe you could stop by my office tomorrow?"

Natasha nodded curtly, her eyes narrowing, "Sure, Doc."

"Good, good," Anne flashed a bright, false smile, the situation growing painfully awkward, "Have a good night, Agent Romanoff, Captain Rogers,"

He raised a hand, "G'night, Doc."

Anne nodded, turning and leaving the room.

Natasha's turned to face him again, looking like the cat that caught the canary. He grabbed his jacket and gym bag, but she stood firmly between him and the door.

"You always use the training floor late," Steve could hear an undercurrent of self-satisfaction in her voice.

"So?"

"So that's how I knew I'd find you here tonight. And that's what she was doing, wasn't it? Looking for you?"

Thrown, he tried to assemble an appropriate excuse, but it came out as unintelligible stuttering.

She grinned. "So that's who you've been fucking."

He frowned.

She shrugged, nonchalant. "I like secrets. And I didn't have any of yours, until now."

On his miserable expression, she smiled conspiratorially. "Don't worry, Cap. I'm very discreet."

* * *

He walked the long route to Anne's building, in case Natasha had decided to follow him. She may have figured them out, but she didn't need to know every detail. He caught up with Anne in the lobby. Alone in the elevator, he grabbed her, pinning her against the wall, his hand in her hair. Her fists were curled around his jacket, pulling him even closer.

As she fumbled for her keys at her door, Steve pressed against her from behind, his hands firm on her hips, his face nuzzling the side of her neck. She leaned her head back on his shoulder.

"Take it easy, soldier. We've got all night."

Inside, standing in her living room, she hesitated, not immune to her own suspicions, however wrong she knew them to be.

"What were you doing with Natasha?"

He sighed. "She knows."

Anne felt her stomach drop.

"How?"

"How does she know anything? She makes it her business to know."

He stepped up to her, his hands brushing her hair back from her face. He gave her a lopsided grin and her frown faded.

He kissed her lips, her cheekbones, her forehead. "Fury's shipping us out again tomorrow."

She leaned away from him, her frown returning. "Didn't I just get you back?"

Steve ran his hands across her back, trying to soothe her as best he could, knowing that her pain at seeing him leave again would tear him apart. "You did," his lips met the side of her neck, just below her ear, "Here I am."

Without another word, he abruptly lifted her over his shoulder, ignoring her indignant cry, and carried her to her bedroom.

He rolled her back over his shoulder until her back hit the bed, her legs draped over the edge. He pulled her slacks and underwear off her hips and down her legs, spreading her knees, laying her open. He stayed crouched between her legs for half an hour, his mouth and hands bringing her to climax over and over, until her legs were jelly and she felt dizzy and delirious. Her hands clutched the sheets, his hair, calling his name, pleading for more, until he couldn't help smiling against her. The taste of her, warm and velvety, coated his tongue and lit him up.

By the time he raised himself over her, by the time he unbuttoned and tossed aside her blouse and bra, she was trembling. He shifted her onto the bed, flipping her onto her stomach in one fluid movement. His arm slid under her hips, lifting her into position as he slid into her easily, buried to the hilt, filling her completely. The position was one of her favorites, and she moaned against the mattress shamelessly. The feel of him behind her, hot and heavy, the feel of his mouth and teeth on her shoulders, her earlobe, the way he growled her name against the nape of her neck, made her feel primal and unhinged.

After, slick with sweat and fluids, they lay wrapped around each other. His fingers drew circles on the small of her back as he pressed a line of slow, lazy kisses down her shoulder.

"You'll be careful?" she murmured, running her hand through his hair.

He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. "I will."

* * *

Three days later, on the deck of the helicarrier, Anne waited for their return with the other medical teams. As she talked with Abernathy, who Fury had recently assigned to help her project, she locked eyes with Pepper, standing alone several yards away.

The other woman gave her a weak smile. An hour earlier, Steve had radioed in that Tony was injured. Next to Anne, his medical team prepared their equipment for whatever was waiting for them on the jet.

Anne had just decided to walk over to her, to give her what comfort she could without caring what rumors it started, when the jet landed, and she found herself sprinting towards it, the other response teams alongside her.

* * *

_September_

The first time Anne saw it happen, she was alone in the lab. Under the microscope, the cells Fury had given her, the samples she had been assigned with replicating, were knitting themselves back together, regenerating, creating their own repairs. The day before, Fury had given her pages of notes recently uncovered from the S.H.I.E.L.D. archives. Though he told her he thought they would be helpful, the yellowed pages were written in an unintelligible scrawl, half in German.

As she watched the magnified cells, having been put through rigorous testing, renew themselves, everything clicked into place. It was a phenomenon she had only witnessed once before - when Steve was her patient. She grabbed the notes, running to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s central files catalog in the basement. Finding the personnel files for the Scientific Strategic Reserve, she pulled a file labeled ERSKINE, ABRAHAM. She flipped through the folder, at last finding a form with his signature. Holding it against the notes Fury gave her, she let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. The handwriting matched.

* * *

That morning, Steve and the team had been in the Command Center listening to Fury's latest briefing.

Suddenly, in the middle of one of Fury's long soliloquies on the importance of keeping the world safe from all that threatened it, the door behind him burst open, revealing Anne, flushed, out of breath, panicky but determined. Behind her, Fury's secretary shouted an apology to her superior. On seeing the team assembled, Anne hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting past Steve's.

She turned to Fury, her expression dark and serious. "Sir, I need to speak with you immediately."

He gestured to the assembled team. "I'm in the middle of something, Doctor."

"I'm afraid it can't wait," she huffed. Steve had never seen her so upset.

From behind her, two S.H.I.E.L.D. security officers grabbed her arms, making her cry out in alarm. The sight made a jolt of rage shoot through Steve. He stood suddenly about to make his way towards them when Fury shooed them away, casting a wary glance at him.

"That won't be necessary," he ordered, excusing himself and following her out of the room.

* * *

In the relative privacy of the hallway, Anne turned on him.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out what you're doing?"

He looked at her coolly. "You're one of our best people. I expected that you would."

"He's just a lab rat to you, isn't he? Just another gun in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s arsenal."

Fury glowered his voice lowering dangerously, "And what do you think he'll do when he finds out you're the mad scientist who's been experimenting on him? Do you think he'll want to crawl back into your bed?"

She looked up at him, stricken. "What—"

"Use your head, Agent Spring. The work we're doing could help a lot of people. Your jobis to stick to the plan."

"I am _not_ your agent," she shouted, her voice strangled and too loud.

* * *

Her raised voice carried through the walls into the Command Center. Steve, who had retaken his seat a moment before, forcing himself to let Anne fight her own battles, started and flew through the door.

"Is everything alright?" His eyes were fixed on hers.

Her brow creased as she looked at him.

"Well, Dr. Spring?" Fury gestured towards her in a pantomime of gentility.

Anne set her jaw, looking up at him.

"I want off this project."

"Too late."

She stormed away without looking back, leaving Steve to watch her go in silence.

* * *

Notes: Because I didn't want to get too spoilery with my notes on the last chapter: I think Steve is certainly a virgin (until Anne). All his talk of "waiting for the right partner" in _Captain America_ seems to make his intentions pretty clear. But at the end of the day, being a virgin, in and of itself, doesn't seem to bother Steve (based on the fact that he pretty much came out and told Peggy), so it didn't bother me. Hopefully it seemed right.

Also, in answer to ym4yum1's review, while I probably could have gotten the ages correct (maybe Anne was just rounding up…), I purposefully didn't use the information in Peggy's S.H.I.E.L.D. file. I'm trying to keep details to keep this story as close to canon as possible, but Peggy living in the U.K. just didn't work for this. There were less excuses to prevent them going just up to New Haven. I'm also kind of cherry-picking details from the _Avengers_ deleted scenes in this chapter (i.e. the newsreels exist, but Steve hasn't seen them since he's been back, etc.).

I had debated writing a birthday scene, and had mostly decided against it for some reason or another. But since it was specifically requested, I gave it a shot. Also, things are about to get Serious, so I figured we could start this one with a little fluff. Hope you enjoyed :)

Finally, just to clarify Natasha's intentions: she's a spy, she's figured out that something's going on with Steve, just from being as perceptive as she is while all this is going on, and needs details. She knows that pretending to flirt with him won't actually lead to anything except him revealing something he doesn't want her to know. The point, basically, is that by the end of this chapter, Steve and Anne have exposed themselves as truly awful secret-keepers.


	8. Chapter 8

_October_

Anne hadn't seen him in two weeks. It had been that long since the Avengers had been sent out on their latest mission. Being away from him, being alone, made her heart ache.

She had put a stop to her work on Fury's project, on her unwitting experimentation with samples she hadn't known were Steve's. Fury's words followed her everywhere: _What do you think he'll do when he finds out?_ The thought of losing him, the thought of lying to him, the thought of not telling him what Fury had made her do, haunted her.

When she found the samples and her notes gone from the lab, she could only feel relieved, filled with hope that the whole, awful thing could be forgotten.

* * *

The team returned the night before the S.H.I.E.L.D. gala Fury had been planning for weeks, an event designed to honor the agency's achievements over the past year. She had already seen Natasha, and stitched up a new gash that stretched across her ribs, but didn't see Steve again until that night.

When she arrived at the hotel ballroom S.H.I.E.L.D. had rented for the occasion, after she found herself seated at a table surrounded by her colleagues and interns, she spotted him from across the room. He was clad in a dark grey suit, undoubtedly something Pepper and Tony had picked out for him.

The sight of him, tall, handsome and strong, was both a balm and a source of immeasurable pain. She felt her insides clench, a hard lump forming in her throat. In giving her this secret – this burden – Fury had ensured that she would never be good enough for him.

* * *

Steve settled in at a table alongside his teammates, finally feeling at ease with them after more than a year of working together. The first half of the evening was devoted to doling out awards to prominent S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. Fury, like a proud patriarch, oversaw the ceremonies.

An hour in, Fury stepped up to the microphone again.

"Now we'd like to acknowledge three members of our Research and Development Team: Dr. Bruce Banner, for his outstanding work during the invasion two summers ago, and Doctors Hubert Abernathy and Anne Spring." Fury smiled elusively, "The security clearance on their work is too high for me to describe it, but I assure you all that their work is of the highest caliber."

Next to him, Bruce rose, ascending the podium to accept a handshake and a bronzed statuette from the director. Across the huge room, Steve could see spotlights indicating the locations of Abernathy and Anne as they made their way towards the stage. His heart caught in his throat to see her, washed out in the bright lights, wearing a dark blue gown.

The three of them stood on the podium for a moment; photographs were taken, Abernathy murmured a few words of thanks on their behalf. Steve's eyes were fixed on Anne; she smiled graciously, but her jaw tensed when Fury shook her hand. In the midst of the fighting, the blood, and the mayhem of their last mission, he hadn't given himself time to miss her. Seeing her again, seeing her glance seriously at her statuette, seeing the way she shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable under the bright spotlight, Steve was overcome with a need to be alone with her again.

When she retook her seat, he met her eyes from across the room. Holding her gaze, he tilted his head in the direction of the door suggestively. Her lips parted slightly. Even at this distance, Steve could see desire in her eyes. She had a way of telling him with no words how much she wanted him, and it laid him low every time he saw it. But despite the yearning in her expression, she gave him a barely perceptible shake of her head and turned back to the table of interns ahead of her, laughing at a joke she couldn't possibly have heard.

It was hours later when he looked over to her table to find her, but saw only her empty chair, the award Fury had given her sitting abandoned on the table. He found her alone in the hotel's lobby. He pulled her away by the hand, and she followed him silently but willingly.

He led her up to the ballroom's balcony, finding a vacated sound booth. The equipment was turned off and cold, the live band S.H.I.E.L.D. had brought rendering it unnecessary. It was secluded, but muted sounds from the revelers on the floor below filtered through an overlooking window.

He hugged her against him, and after a moment her arms wound tightly around his shoulders. "You're okay?" she murmured near his ear, "You're not hurt?"

"I'm fine," he answered, his lips warm against her throat. She sighed and pressed against him as his hands stroked down her back to her hips.

Suddenly, he leaned back slightly, looking down at her. "What was going on in there? Didn't you want…" He trailed off, frowning.

She looked up at him with an anxious, hesitant expression that he had seen more and more from her in the past few weeks. Her lips were pressed together, her jaw tense. A part of him knew that she wasn't telling him something, and he hated it.

"Things are very complicated right now."

"Complicated how?"

"It doesn't matter now," she whispered, shaking her head, pleading with him, "Nothing else matters right now."

She lifted her hands to frame his face, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek, the corner of his mouth, her eyes squeezed shut. Ignoring the unease that pooled in his stomach, he pulled her closer, pressing his lips to hers. She surged against him, one hand in his hair, the other fumbling with his belt buckle.

He pulled back slightly. "Here?"

Her eyes were dark and clouded. Up close, it was clearer than ever: there was something inexpressibly sad in her that hadn't been there before. It was a look he hadn't seen since he'd seen it in his own reflection, before she had made him complete. He knew then that he could deny her nothing, even if it meant shattering their old rules upstairs from a ballroom filled with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

Steve walked her backwards until her back hit a wall. His lips crashed against hers, and Anne seemed to revel in his ferocity; her hands clutching at his shoulders wildly. He pulled up the layers of her skirt. She gasped against his mouth as his hands deftly tore apart her underwear, discarding the ruined scraps of fabric on the floor, burying his fingers in her. Cupping her backside, he lifted her, pinning her against the wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him flush against her.

He kissed her for long moment, trying to slow her down, seeing that she was too frantic, something in her spinning out of control. Finally, his forehead pressed against hers, she whispered, "_Please_." The sound of it made his heart catch in his throat.

He reached between them, making quick work of his already half-undone belt buckle and opening his slacks. He took his erection in hand, positioning himself under her and lowering her onto his hard length. She pressed warm kisses onto his brow, his cheekbone, his neck.

Amidst the feel of her against him, wrapped around him after so long, Steve found himself struggling not to cry out. The horror, the darkness of the last two weeks, the last few fights, hovered somewhere just at the edge of his consciousness. Fear was not a sensation he was familiar with, but in that moment he felt overwhelmed by it. It was a fear of losing her, of losing anything more than what he had already lost. The strange, haunted look in Anne's eyes had only frightened him more, and he pressed himself against her fully, hoping that he could be enough to make her better.

He buried his face against the joint where her shoulder met her neck. His fingers slid into her hair, gripping and pulling gently. She gasped and ground her hips against his, wild for him.

It was too much. His knees buckled and he tucked her against him, kneeling down and tumbling her backwards onto the rough carpet, driving into her mercilessly. Anne's mouth was open, gasping, a silent cry blocked in her throat. She kicked off her shoes, her bare heels dug into the carpet, her hips bucking to meet his thrusts.

He bent over her, chanting _IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou_, shifting her hips until he was hitting the deepest, most tender part of her. She yanked his shirt up, her fingernails running across his back as she shuddered and clenched around him. He came with a sharp jerk and fell, limp and heavy over her. She was out of breath, like she had just run a mile.

"Let's go home."

He leaned up to look at her. Fury had asked him, and all the Avengers, to stay until the end, promising some kind of special tribute. But her eyes were watery, her hands were in his hair, and as long as he was still inside her, there was nothing he wouldn't give her.

"Okay."

Once they had rearranged themselves, on their way out of the building, Steve stopped her with a hand on her arm.

"What about your award?"

Her face hardened, "Leave it."

* * *

The team went three weeks without a new mission. It was three weeks before Fury called Steve into his office.

"You wanted to see me?" he asked as he entered.

"I did. There's something important I need to tell you."

Fury gestured for him to take a seat opposite his desk and Steve complied.

The director looked at him seriously. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has been working to replicate Dr. Erskine's serum, to reboot Project: Rebirth. I thought it was about time you knew."

Steve felt the room spin. "What?"

"The world needs more people like the Avengers, Cap. The six of you can't protect us forever."

"I don't understand," his hands gripped the chair, "The SSR, Howard Stark – _Dr. Banner_ – couldn't replicate the serum. They all knew one wrong step could create another Johann Schmidt."

Fury nodded patiently. "Luckily for us, I believe Dr. Spring's research has gotten us very close to replicating the original serum. Dr. Abernathy has reviewed her work and he agrees."

For a moment, Steve's mind went blank. "Dr. Spring?"

"Dr. Anne Spring," Fury clarified casually, "She extracted a set of tissue and blood samples from you last fall and she's been working closely with them for the past few months."

Steve felt his face crumple in disgust. To hear it made him feel like a human experiment, like he had been chopped up and dissected. The awful words Tony had spoken to him after they first met rose up from the back of his mind: _Everything special about you came out of a bottle._

"Are you feeling alright, Cap?" Fury stood gracefully, moving to a sideboard and pouring a glass of water, which Steve waved away.

Steve stood, his brow knitted, turning and leaving silently, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

He found Anne in her office. She looked up at him, adjusting her glasses as he closed her door. His thumbs hooked into the belt of his uniform. His face was impassive, cold. She could see his jaw clench and she straightened, a pit forming in her stomach.

"Fury told me about the project. He told me you were trying to recreate the serum."

Her brow creased, "And you believed him?"

"Were you?"

Her face fell. The truth was inescapable.

"I wasn't _trying _to. The samples Fury gave me were blind. I didn't know who the donor was until after I'd run the tests."

"But you did know?"

"Yes." She looked up at him earnestly, trying to ignore the stinging at the back of her eyes.

"When? Was it before or after…"

A look of horror passed across her face as she realized what he was implying.

"Last month." It was almost a whisper.

He looked away from her sharply. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Tell you what? That Fury tricked me into experimenting on you? I shut the project down as soon as I figured it out. Fury's goons took my notes and the samples."

Her heart pounded against her ribcage. Seeing him – how his jaw was set, his fists clenched at his sides – made her want to throw herself at his feet.

"You have to believe I didn't mean for this to happen," her voice wobbled. She rose, stepped around her desk towards him, reaching out for him desperately, but he moved away.

He held his hand up, and she froze. He couldn't look at her.

"I need some time."

And then he was gone.

* * *

_November_

They spent weeks avoiding each other. Every time one of them saw the other, they retreated automatically. More than betrayal, Steve felt acutely the loss of her presence. The day that he had pushed away her smiles, her touch, her sultry looks, he had lost a part of himself. He stopped training late, hating the knowledge that she was upstairs in the lab, but no longer waiting for him.

Anne, however, had kept her late night schedule, happy to stay away from her empty apartment for as long as possible. It was on one of these late nights in the lab, long after the headquarters building had emptied, when she, Abernathy, and her intern, a shy graduate student named Lucy, remained.

Suddenly, a loud _boom_ rattled the walls, sending shelves of glass beakers crashing to the floor. Anne stumbled, shouting an order to Lucy to get under a table. Another explosion followed, filling the lab with smoke. Anne fell to her knees, covering her head, shards of glass shredding her shins. An alarm blared, filling the room with noise. The fluorescent lights of the lab flickered out, replaced by red emergency lights.

As the smoke dispersed, Anne could see that a gaping hole had been blown through one of the lab's walls, and a dozen black-clad, gun-toting men poured through it. Frozen in terror, she watched as Abernathy, positioned closer to their point of entry, launched himself at one of the intruders, who knocked him to the ground, firing twice into his prone body.

Anne fought the urge to scream, diving under a table opposite Lucy, who stared at her with wide, terrified eyes. Anne raised a shaky hand, holding a finger to her lips in a silent message.

Despite the alarm, the men moved through the room slowly, methodically. From her hiding spot, she could see them grabbing laptops and hard drives, stuffing them into duffel bags.

A large man, his face obscured by a black ski mask, stepped into the aisle between Anne and Lucy. He paused. Anne could see Lucy, her hands clenched, her eyes closed, her lips moving soundlessly. Abruptly, the man reached down, pulling her up violently. Her scream ricocheted off the walls. Anne was next, another agent pulling her out from underneath the table. She struggled and his fist met the side of her face, sending her to the ground.

A third man stepped towards her, raising a hand, stopping the other men. He knelt to look closer at her, examining her face for a long moment. "I'll be damned," he grabbed her chin, forcing her face up, "It's the Captain's little chickadee."

She tried to jerk away, but he gripped her hair, pulling her head back, his other hand wrapped tight around her throat. "You want to try to get out of this? You want to be a hero like your friend here?" he jerked his head towards the motionless body just yards away from them, "Go ahead." He held her gaze for a moment, and Anne did her best to look fearless. Releasing her, she crumpled against the ground, coughing furiously against the pain of her bruised windpipe. She glanced towards Abernathy, seeing his pale, wide-eyed expression and the growing pool of blood beneath him, knowing he was beyond help.

On the floor behind her, her intern, Lucy, cried quietly, her hand covering her mouth. As one of the men in black typed codes into Anne's computer, another man bound their hands and pulled them away.

* * *

It was past midnight when the alert came through the team's transponders. Steve had been tossing and turning in bed for hours, utterly incapable of sleep, and he leapt at the sound, racing to S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, eager for distraction. He and the team were suited-up, already in the jet, coordinates in hand and on their way when Natasha briefed him on their mission: a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent had been killed, and two had been captured. She and Clint's fast work had traced them to an underground bunker in rural West Virginia.

Even as she explained the situation, he could tell that she was describing it in the simplest terms.

"What aren't you telling me?" he had asked, unprepared for the answer.

She said nothing, but handed him a tablet, the screen lit up with two photographs: a mousy, brunette woman Steve didn't recognize and Anne, her expression neutral and official.

For a moment, he thought he might fall. His head spun, his stomach lurched. Then, composing himself, he handed the tablet back to Natasha, pulled the mask over his head and set his jaw.

"Let's get this one right," he said to her, quietly.

She gave him a small smile, "We always do."

* * *

Notes: Hopefully this wasn't _too_ awful. Obviously, the right thing for Anne to have done would have been to tell Steve right away, but we (real people and fictional people) don't always do the (sometimes obviously) right thing, especially when people we love are involved. I also think that if one were dating someone as idolized as Steve, one would probably feel a little inadequate at times, which has a lot to do with Anne's state of mind here.

I'll try to get the next chapter up soon. I was working on both simultaneously this time, just to give myself a break from the angst. In all, this story will have ten chapters. If there's interest, I may also write a shorter sequel – either a shorter chaptered story or a longer one-shot – let me know if you want it.

Also, just because I love learning about what inspires other people, I wrote the first part (up to Chapter 6) of this story to The Lumineers' self-titled album. I played the _Captain America_ soundtrack a lot while I was writing the last chapter. This chapter, I wrote to Bob Dylan's _Don't Think Twice, It's Alright_ and _It Ain't Me, Babe_, both extraordinarily beautiful songs.

Thanks, as always, to all readers and reviewers!


	9. Chapter 9

**Note:** The song used in this chapter is Peter, Paul & Mary's _Early in the Morning_. If you'd like to hear it, I put a link in my profile.

* * *

When Anne came to, Natasha was leaning over her, one hand on her shoulder, the other on the side of her face. As her eyes opened, Natasha smiled. They were in a strange concrete room filled with smoke and debris. In the distance, Anne could hear crashes and gunfire.

"Time to go home, Doc. Can you walk?"

Anne nodded, and Natasha quickly helped her to her feet.

"Lucy—"

"We've got her," she interrupted, tilting her head in the direction of Clint, the unconscious woman in his arms.

* * *

They ran to the jet through unfamiliar, winding hallways, Anne stumbling as the effects of the sedative her captors had given her wore off. Clint and Natasha left them in the hull of the jet to take their places in the cockpit, radioing the team that they had been recovered. Anne turned her attention to the young girl next to her, finding a medical kit to set her fractured arm and stitch the large gash that stretched across her forehead.

After a long, endless moment, the remains of the team bounded onto the jet. Anne looked up from her patient for a moment, making just the briefest eye contact with Steve before turning back to her work. Bruce, back to his normal size, rushed to Anne's side, helping to steady Lucy's limp form as she stabilized her injuries.

* * *

As they landed, a team of medics ushered Lucy and Anne out of the jet, Lucy still unconscious, was pushed out on a gurney. Anne left upright and walking, but holding an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth. Steve watched as Bruce went with her, his arm secure around Anne's waist, helping her walk. It made something shift in Steve's chest to see someone else taking care of her, not him. As they left, Bruce cast a somber look back at Steve.

He had told Bruce everything and when he learned about Anne's involvement in the project to recreate the serum, he had sighed and slumped his shoulders.

"Did she mean to do it?" he had asked.

Steve's jaw had tightened, "She says she didn't."

Bruce had nodded pensively, "Do you remember what I told you about happiness?"

Steve had looked at him squarely and Bruce had put a hand on his shoulder. His dark eyes were mournful and imploring.

"_Don't let them win, Cap_."

Steve, still in the jet, shook away the memory, calling Natasha over to him.

She stepped to his side, "Cap."

"You're the one who got her out?"

"I was." She shifted, standing at ease.

"Is she…"

"She's banged up, but she'll be fine. Radio says they took her to the hospital ward."

He looked down at her, meaning every word. "Thank you."

When she gave him a small, sad smile, he could see the real Natasha, the woman she had been before she had been corrupted by all manner of dark forces.

"It's going to be okay, Cap."

* * *

Hours later, he hadn't bothered to change out of his uniform, torn and stained from the fight in West Virginia. When he found her room in S.H.I.E.L.D.'s hospital ward, he discovered her lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. She sat up as he entered and stood next to her bed.

He examined her. The left side of her face was bruised from temple to jawbone. Her lip was split. The skin on her neck was discolored. He reached out, brushing her chin with his fingertips until she turned her head so he could see. Finger-shaped bruises bloomed purple across her throat. Steve exhaled sharply.

The idea that someone had hit her sent a surge of rage through him. The thought that someone had put their hands around her throat made him see red.

"It's not that bad," she said quietly, "They just want me here for observation tonight."

He said nothing, his eyes fixed on the floor as he struggled to compose himself.

"Those men…They knew about _us_. How is that possible?" she looked at him seriously.

His eyes snapped up to hers, his brow furrowed. A jolt of dread shot through him.

"Intel said they weren't targeting anyone, just taking what they could."

She looked up at him, small and alone in the hospital bed, the mottled bruises a sickly purple under the harsh fluorescent lights. He felt the bile rise in his throat and excused himself quickly, unable to stand another moment with her, with the new truth she had given him.

He made it to the hallway before he lost control. He saw more than felt his fist hit the wall, creating a melon-sized dent. He stormed up to the only witness to his outburst: the ward's receiving nurse, seated behind a high desk.

"I need the emergency contact information for Dr. Spring."

The nurse hesitated, knowing that it was against policy, but unsure under the gaze of one of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s top operatives. The names in the folder she handed him were familiar: Anne's older sister, Claire, the activist, and her younger brother, Andy, the musician. He had them both on a chartered flight from San Francisco to New York by morning.

* * *

Steve straightened as he saw them descend from the plane, watching them closely as they crossed the tarmac. The woman could have been Anne's physical opposite: small, blonde and tan, wearing something colorful and flowing. The tall, lanky young man next to her however, had Anne's dark hair and serious expression, a black guitar case in his hand.

Aside from preliminary introductions, the car ride into the city was quiet. Over the phone, Steve had described Anne's condition in the gentlest possible way, but their faces were still lined with worry. Seated across from them in the spacious towncar, out of the corner of his eye Steve saw Claire rest her head on her brother's shoulder. Andy slid an arm around her, turning his head to murmur against her hair. If it hadn't been for Steve's enhanced hearing, he wouldn't have heard it:

_"I'm sure she's fine."_

* * *

As they approached the city, Steve's phone rang. On the other end of the line, Bruce breathlessly explained that Anne had discharged herself, that he couldn't find her, that he thought she might have gone back to her apartment.

The thought of her walking back to her apartment, battered and alone, made Steve's fists clench uncontrollably. He hung up, redirecting the driver to Anne's apartment in the West Village.

* * *

When they arrived, she opened the door slowly, looking up at him apprehensively. She was wrapped in a terry cloth robe, her face still black and blue.

Then, her gaze slid to the figures next to him. She gasped, and Andy and Claire rushed towards her, surrounding her. All Steve could see of Anne was her arm around Claire's waist and her hand around Andy's shoulders. After a moment, he realized they were holding her up. When she leaned back to look at them, her face was tearstained but smiling.

"How?" she asked, her hands on their faces, "How did this happen?"

Claire nodded at Steve suggestively and Anne turned to look at him, surprise plain on her face. "You did this?"

He shrugged and her face clenched as though she might cry again. It suddenly struck him that, though he had seen her near tears a handful of times, he had never really seen her cry. The sight made him want to wrap her in his arms, to crush her against him until she felt whole again.

She explained that she had just been about to shower, that she hadn't had a chance to since she'd returned.

"Of course," her sister told her, "Go. We can entertain ourselves."

Anne hugged them both once more and disappeared into the bathroom.

When she was gone, Claire turned to her brother, her hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. Andy ran his hands through his hair and across his face.

"Cigarette. Immediately."

* * *

On the fire escape, Andy smoked like a chimney, and the two of them asked Steve to tell them again what happened. He explained in the simplest terms he could, not wanting to burden them with the deeper, more complex nature of the situation.

After Anne had left, Steve had tried to leave, but Claire refused to let him go without saying goodbye to Anne. Chastened, he knew that she was right. To slip away when Anne was gone would have been cowardly.

Claire asked if he was dating her. He shook his head, not feeling capable of explaining what had happened between them.

Andy nudged her teasingly. "You know how you can tell they're not dating?" Claire shot him a look, but he continued, "Because he doesn't look like a grungy piece of shit like all her other boyfriends." He turned to Steve, "I wish you _would_ date her. She could use someone like you, especially now."

Steve raised an eyebrow. "Someone like me?"

"Yeah," he took a long drag off his cigarette, "All clean and upstanding. It'd be a nice change."

Claire cleared her throat, looking at him pointedly. She plucked the cigarette from his fingers, taking a drag as she turned to Steve. "So what do you do for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

It had been so long since he had talked to anyone who didn't already know. He shifted, his mouth opening and closing. Just then, Anne appeared in the window, leaning on the sill. Her hair was damp.

"Steve's an artist. A good one," she smiled shyly at him, "He just moonlights at S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Is that right?" Claire beamed at him.

"Since when do you smoke?" Anne asked her, putting a stop to her interrogation.

Claire raised an eyebrow, inhaled and passed the cigarette back to Andy. "Since I saw that shiner of yours."

Anne frowned, moving aside to make way fro the three of them to step back inside.

"Stay," Claire commanded, when Steve started to make his goodbyes, "Any friend of Annie's is a friend of ours."

Anne winced, looking at up at him, "You don't have to…"

"Of _course_ he does," she insisted, wrapping an arm around Anne's shoulder.

She turned to Steve, "Is there a grocery store nearby?"

He nodded, "Two blocks down."

"Perfect. You can take me there, then."

"Claire—" Anne began.

"Hush. We've got to eat sometime. Especially you; look how thin you are," she ran a hand through Anne's hair, "We'll get you fat and happy again."

Grabbing a jacket and purse, she gestured to Steve. "Come on. I'll let you push the cart."

* * *

Claire was quiet on the elevator ride down, her brow furrowed, obviously deep in thought. She didn't say anything until they were out of the building, on the sidewalk.

"You can't let her get skinny like that. It means she's not taking care of herself."

She looked up at him seriously until he nodded. There was something about the way she said it, the way she confided in him, the way she assigned him responsibility for her sister, that made Steve feel guilty and gratified at the same time.

* * *

When they returned, Claire brought out her duffel bag.

"I brought all of your favorite things," she announced, pulling out and holding up in turn a loaf of sourdough bread from the Boudin Bakery, a stack of Bob Dylan records, and an enormous bottle of red wine. When she waggled her eyebrows suggestively and held up a thin white cigarette that even Steve knew was a joint, Anne shoved her hand down. "Not in mixed company," she hissed, blushing and trying not to look at Steve.

Claire raised an eyebrow, "Oh, Annie, when did you become such a square?"

Anne rolled her eyes, "You sound like mom."

By that time, it was evening, and Anne and Claire disappeared into her kitchen, eventually emerging with platters of mouthwatering dishes with foreign names Steve could barely pronounce.

The three of them together were a force. It made Steve's heart swell to hear how they called her "Annie," to see how they made Anne laugh until she cried, to watch how Claire took care of her and she took care of Andy.

Later, they listened to music protesting a war he didn't remember while Claire and Andy told him stories about their childhood. He learned that her father, a physical anthropologist, had spent most of their youth researching early hominids in dusty Africa. Their mother taught ethnomusicology at Berkeley. Andy had brought an album filled with photographs of the Spring children, suntanned, silly and wild, mugging for the camera. Occasionally their parents appeared, both with long hair and dark clothes. Her father smoked a pipe. Her mother wore tinted aviator glasses.

She had told him so little of her life in San Francisco. Every time he had asked her, she had argued that it would make her too homesick to talk about it, and now he could understand why. It made him happy to imagine her growing up with her brother and sister, bohemian and free, nothing at all like his own childhood.

Steve drank wine with them, immune to its effects but content to watch the three of them ease into their chairs, their stories gradually becoming more ribald. In the end, Anne and Andy were both asleep – Anne stretched across the couch with her head on Claire's lap, Andy in the chair opposite Steve.

In low tones, Claire told Steve, "You should tuck her in. I'll get things set up out here."

Claire slid off her glasses. Steve lifted her slowly, tucking her against his chest. For a moment, he looked down at her, the unbruised side of her face pressed against his shoulder, her eyes still shut, her eyelashes spread long and dark against her cheeks. It was the first time he had touched – really touched her – for weeks and weeks.

"Steve?" Claire's hand touched his arm. When he looked up at her, she smiled knowingly, pointing down the hallway to her left. "Bed."

* * *

Claire followed him in, pulling down the covers, putting Anne's glasses on the bedside table, and disappearing back into the living room.

He lowered Anne to the bed slowly, sliding her feet under the covers, pulling them back over her. As her head hit the pillow, she stirred, looking up at him sleepily. He sat at the edge of her bed, his hand still on her waist.

"Thank you for this," her hand touched his forearm, "You don't hate them, do you? I couldn't stand it if you did."

"I've never known anyone like them."

She cringed, "Is that bad?"

"No," he smiled, "The opposite. You're all so close."

"Our parents weren't around a lot," she shrugged.

He took a deep breath, looking around the room. To be in her bedroom again, the place where they had first made love, made his heart ache. To be alone with her here, after everything they had gone through, after what had just happened to her, was nearly more than he could bear.

She moved her hand away from his arm, laying it flat on her stomach. "Just like you left it," she said softly, as though she could read his thoughts.

He looked back at her, the thought of leaving her was insupportable. "Do you want me to stay?"

She shifted and sat up, face to face with him. "You would do that?"

"Might be safer."

"Might be."

He shifted closer to her, his eyes dropping to her lips, to her pale shoulders and chest, exposed by her tank top, before flickering back up to her face.

"Claire has the spare room and Andy has the couch."

He brought up his hand to cup her un-bruised jaw, his thumb running across her cheek. "Could I—"

"You could stay with me," she interrupted, too eager.

He nodded, his eyes heavy-lidded, then hesitated, moving his hand away, "But we shouldn't—"

"I know," she interjected again, "Of course."

She turned away as he stripped to his underwear and undershirt, sliding under the covers. Under the covers, she slid off her jeans, tossing them to the floor beside her. When he was lying next to her, she turned to him.

"Tell me something you remember." It was something she used to say to him before they went to sleep, and it sent a wave of longing through him.

He took her hand, like he used to, folding his fingers between hers. He told her about watching the Brooklyn Dodgers play at Ebbets Field with Bucky. He told her about the seedy bars they'd go to after, packed with fellow baseball fans. He told her how the two of them would fill up on warm beer, and stumble back to their apartment, laughing and singing, Bucky with his arm around a girl he had picked up along the way.

Later, as she reached to turn off the light, she felt his hand on her hip, rolling her onto her back. He leaned over her, the low light on his golden skin and hair making him look preternaturally handsome. His hands ran along her wounded face, his fingers just brushing the healing injury on her lip.

"I should have been there. I should have stopped this."

She brought her hand up to hold his. She shook her head, "It's not your fault. Sometimes things happen, even when you don't want them to."

He bent his head towards her, scattering feather-light kisses across her bruises. Her eyes fluttered closed, absorbed in the sensation of him.

"Steve," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion, "I'm so sorry. For everything."

"Let's both stop being sorry for things that weren't our fault."

She smiled. He watched her carefully as his fingers traced her collarbone. Slowly, he lowered his lips to her shoulder. His free hand moved around her, sliding up the back of her shirt. "Is this alright?" he breathed.

She sighed, feeling a weight lifted off of her. "Yes."

He moved slow, sliding over her, his leg between hers. He lifted her shirt, trailing kisses up her stomach as he went. As he reached the undersides of her breasts, he moved away, pulling the hem down again.

His face hovered over hers. "We shouldn't," he whispered. His expression was hesitant, but his hands were still on her, cupping her breast through her the fabric of her top, pinching the nipple lightly.

Her hips rolled against his thigh, and she fought the urge to wrap her leg around him. She could feel him hard against her stomach.

"_Steve_," she gasped, her hands were on his lower back, sliding up his t-shirt.

His lips brushed hers, ever so slightly and she felt her insides melt. His hair fell over his eyes.

"We _can_ go slow, can't we?" he murmured.

Her breath caught as his thigh moved against her. Despite his body's response to her, he wanted to go slow this time, to ease back into her, to not rush the first time they made love after being apart for so long.

"Sure we can. Is that what you want?"

He nodded. His eyes were heavy-lidded, dark, filled with need. He lowered a hand, curving his warm palm against the cleft between her legs.

"Then you should—" she bit back a moan as his fingers worked the sensitive bud at the front of her sex through the soft fabric of her underwear, "You should go back to your side."

He paused, looking at her. His hands retreated to her waist. He moved to shift away from her, to honor what he had said he wanted and retreat to his side of the bed, but her hands curled around his biceps and stopped him.

"Wait," her voice was low and serious. Her eyes were fixed on his, earnest and honest, "I love you."

He kissed her lightly, wary of her hurt lip. "I love you, too."

"Don't go far," she cried as he moved away.

He pulled her against him, her back to his front, his arms around her waist, "I won't."

* * *

Dawn was just breaking. Cool grey light filtering through Anne's bedroom window, when Steve woke. He sat up, leaning against the headboard, enjoying the quiet early morning and the warmth from Anne next to him, still laying on her side with her back facing him.

When the bedroom door opened, he straightened, his alarm assuaged at the sight of Claire holding a finger up to her lips, grinning and pointing at Anne's still-sleeping form.

Behind her came Andy, a guitar around his neck. At the sight of Steve in her bed, he raised his eyebrows and smirked. Steve felt himself turn crimson. Andy perched on the edge of the bed at Anne's feet, Claire standing next to him. Mouthing the words, Claire counted off, and the room was suddenly resonant with sound.

_Well, early in the morning_

_About the break of day_

_I asked the Lord_

_Help me find the way_

As Claire joined the next verse, her voice clear and strong, Steve felt Anne stir beside him, grabbing her glasses from her bedside table and shifting to prop herself up on her elbows.

_Help me find the way_

_To the Promised Land_

_This lonely body_

_Needs a helping hand_

_I asked the Lord to help me please_

_Find the way_

From their practiced harmonies, Steve could tell this wasn't their first performance. He wondered if it was something Anne had grown up with; wondered if this was how she woke up when she was a girl. After the song ended, the two Spring siblings bowed in unison, immeasurably pleased with themselves.

"That was perfect," he heard her say quietly, a smile in her voice.

Andy nudged Anne's knee through the blanket. "Get up, Annie. You're showing us New York today."

She rubbed her eyes and groaned.

Claire settled her hands on her hips. "Come on. You can't lay in bed with this beautiful young man _all_ day," she argued, smiling and winking at Steve conspiratorially. His blush deepened.

Anne gasped and looked back at him. It had been so long since she had woken up alongside him, she had forgotten that he was there. Her mouth dropped open, her face turning nearly as red as Steve's had. Her hands flew up to cover her face and she slid down, disappearing under the covers. In between peals of laughter, Claire and Andy shuffled out.

When they were gone, she pulled the sheets down, looking up at him sheepishly.

"Those two never met a closed door they didn't like."

She shifted her legs off the bed, standing to make her way to the bathroom. Moving fast, Steve threw his legs over the side of the bed, sitting on the edge, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her towards him until she was standing between his knees. Her hands were spread wide on his broad shoulders.

His fingers brushed the discolored skin on her neck.

"Does this hurt?"

"Only a little." Her head dipped towards his, her tangled hair falling across her face.

His fingers moved up to the cut on her lip. "Does this?"

She shook her head slightly and his hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer. His face tilted up to hers, "Kiss me, then."

She smiled widely, lowering her face and pressing her lips against his, her hands on either side of his face. It was simple, close-mouthed, warm and sweet. She laughed as he pulled her closer, nibbling her shoulder, her hands sliding up her bare legs. By the time he released her, they were both panting and flushed and desperately in need of ice-cold showers.

* * *

Claire slathered Anne's face with makeup and tied a scarf around her neck. By the time they emerged from the bathroom, she looked nearly normal. They walked through the city all day, stopping in museums and galleries, cafes and restaurants.

Steve and Andy walked side-by-side behind them. Somewhere in Chelsea, Andy glanced up at him from behind dark sunglasses. "Normally I tell Anne's gentleman callers that if they hurt her, I'll break their arms. I don't know what the hell to threaten _you_ with."

Ahead of them, Claire elbowed Anne, grinning and whispering something in her ear. Anne bowed her head bashfully and looked back at them. The look she gave him made him blush, but he insisted to Andy that his intentions were honorable.

"What? Like you're going to marry her?"

"We haven't talked about that." He frowned. _Should they have talked about that by now?_ He glanced warily up at Claire and Anne, but they were at least a half a block ahead of them.

"Hm," Andy grunted, pulling out his Zippo and lighting a cigarette.

Steve babbled on, willing himself to stop, "I mean, of course I would. We'd have to get your blessing, of course, and Claire's and her parents'. I haven't even met her parents – your parents."

Suddenly, in the middle of the sidewalk, Andy froze. Steve was a pace ahead of him when he stopped and turned. The younger man, a cigarette pinched between his fingers, looked at him with his mouth hanging open.

He pointed at Steve's chest. "You're going to marry our Annie."

Steve hesitated, "I didn't…I haven't…"

Andy scoffed, starting to walk again, "What? You're going to let her spend the rest of her life with somebody else?"

Steve smiled to himself, running a hand across the hair at the nape of his neck.

* * *

They stayed for a week. After a few days, necessity required Steve to visit his own apartment in Brooklyn, needing a change of clothes. Though he was only there for a few hours, a knock on his door interrupted him.

He opened the door to find Tony Stark, his face lined with concern, the arc reactor glowing blue through his shirt.

"So here's something interesting," Tony began, swaggering into the apartment, holding a CD aloft. "S.H.I.E.L.D. has been bugging your apartment."

He handed the disc to Steve, "Audio and video, in glorious Technicolor."

Steve frowned, "How did you get this?"

"Hacked in. And I wasn't the first one."

Steve could feel this information soaking into his brain, his body. For a moment, he felt numb.

"How long?" he muttered, shaking his head, "How long?"

"Since you came back from the ice."

"You've seen the footage?"

Tony pursed his lips, unsure of how to play the situation, eventually deciding for honesty.

"Some of it," came the quiet reply.

A hard pit of anger was forming in Steve's stomach.

"Then you know where the cameras are? The microphones?"

Tony shrugged, "More or less."

He looked around the room wildly. Everything that had happened in this apartment had been watched, not just by S.H.I.E.L.D. or Tony, but by anyone with the wherewithal to hack into their system. Every vulnerability – _Anne_ – had been laid out for all to see.

"We have to destroy them."

"What?"

Steve turned back to him, "The cameras. The equipment."

"Steve—," Tony hesitated, inhaling slowly.

"Please," their eyes met, "Help me."

The two of them scoured the apartment, uncovering black and grey chunks of metal and plastic. They piled them in a box, the two of them escorting them to Stark Tower, where they were incinerated.

Tony explained that he had built two floors of penthouses in the tower, but after Loki's attack the year before had singled out Stark Tower as a target, he had had no renters. He insisted that Steve move in, and after Steve, knowing that his first mistake had been accepting S.H.I.E.L.D.'s apartment, accepted, Tony made the arrangements to have his meager belongings moved that afternoon.

* * *

"You've been bugging my apartment." Steve's voice was filled with accusation as he swept into Director Fury's office.

Looking up from his desk, Fury's eyebrows raised.

"Have a seat, Captain," he gestured toward two chairs opposite the desk.

"I'd rather stand," came Steve's brusque reply.

Fury sighed. "Yes, there is surveillance equipment in your apartment. I'm not sure that it should come as a surprise – you know we pay the rent and have copies of the keys."

Steve's expression darkened.

"I assure you, I am the only person with access to the recordings."

He scoffed, "You really think so?"

Fury looked chastened for a moment, and Steve knew he knew that their security had been breached.

Steve's jaw clenched, his arms crossed.

"I'm done with S.H.I.E.L.D. I'm off the Avengers Initiative."

He had never seen the director so surprised. His mouth fell open.

"The world needs you, Cap."

Steve turned, striding back towards the door, "It's not the world that's losing me."

* * *

Notes: Hope you all liked this one! I did not think it was going to be this long, so it took a little longer to get up than I had initially thought.

Regarding the Peter Paul and Mary song used in this chapter: Though it has a religious theme, I honestly don't think there was a lot of religion in the Spring house. I _do_, however, think there was a lot of folk music.

Finally, The Avengers as a team are not gone. All will be explained.

All reviews are very, very appreciated! Thanks, as always to all readers and reviewers!


	10. Chapter 10

Notes: Parts of this have to do with my guesses as to the themes that, based on trailers, _may possibly_ be dealt with in _Iron Man 3_, which, as of this posting, hasn't come out yet.

So this is the end. A sequel will be coming – keep your eyes peeled. Hope you all enjoyed it. Thanks again to all readers, followers, and reviewers!

* * *

_December_

It had been a weeks since Steve had left S.H.I.E.L.D. Weeks since his last mission. After he told her about the surveillance, Anne resigned. She spent her newly-free time helping him move into Stark Tower, helping him pick out furniture to fill the gigantic penthouse, her bruises fading more every day.

They stayed up late together, talking and laughing. They put a Christmas tree in the corner of his living room, forgoing new, plastic decorations in favor of popcorn garlands like they had made the Christmas before.

* * *

In his new, spacious kitchen, he taught her how to make pierogi the way his mother had taught him.

"She was Polish? Your mother?" Anne asked as she watched him roll out the dough, beaming the way she always did when she learned something new about him.

"Her parents were," he answered.

"Did she speak Polish?"

"She did."

"Do you?"

He smirked, "No. She didn't want me to. She wanted me to be all-American, like my father."

Anne's heart paused, her eyes fixed on his face; it was the most she had ever heard him say about his father. But in the next instant, he was suddenly absorbed in his task, giving her instructions on assembling the pierogi filling, and the conversation was gone.

Later, though, she coaxed him into telling her more about his mother. He told her that, before she was married, her name had been Sarah Kowalski. He told her that she had had blonde hair and blue eyes, like him. He told Anne that she had raised him to believe that America was a land of promise and opportunity.

* * *

They spent hours just kissing, wrapped around each other like teenagers. They spent weeks falling asleep pressed together in Steve's new bed. It was something they hadn't had before: being together and in love without the pressure to consummate. After the humiliation of what Fury had put them through, there was something cathartic and new about it; like they had given themselves a chance to start over without going back to the beginning.

* * *

_December 29_

Tony called Anne in to meet first, inviting her up to his top-floor office. When she got back, she just smiled enigmatically, telling Steve that he would find out what they had talked about soon.

He had looked at her seriously, "No secrets."

"It's not a secret," she had told him, stroking his arms until his skeptical look softened, "It's a surprise."

* * *

The next morning, Tony called them both up. For the first time since he left S.H.I.E.L.D., Steve found himself face-to-face with the entire Avengers team.

"How can we ever really be in the right as long as we're attached to S.H.I.E.L.D.?" Tony demanded, looking at them all sternly. "This is the new team; a top secret department of Stark Industries. Banner heads R&D. Spring, Locke, and Wright head our subdivisions: Medical, Tech, and Defense." Tony pointed at each of them in turn Steve vaguely recognized the other two as former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents. "Cap, if you're on board, you'd head Tactics. Barton, Romanoff, you'd be on Intelligence. Thor," he smirked, "International Relations. Jane Foster and Erik Selvig have already agreed to come aboard as consultants."

He stormed on, "This is our chance to make something better than what we had. Not one person in this room hasn't been lied to, manipulated, or double-crossed by S.H.I.E.L.D. It's time to take the Avengers Initiative back."

Clint and Natasha exchanged a look, then turned back to Tony.

Clint nodded, "We're in."

"As am I," Thor's voice boomed.

Steve looked at Anne. She gave him a small smile and a shrug. He turned to Tony and nodded.

Later, as the team left, Tony tapped Steve's arm, indicating that he should stay behind. Anne glanced back at him, concerned, but left with the others.

When they were alone, Tony poured them each a drink, even though he knew that Steve couldn't be affected by it.

"So," he began, "You and the doc. I see the birds are flying again." Tony's voice was uncharacteristically quiet. The brash confidence he had displayed just moments earlier was long gone.

Steve smiled to himself, looking down at his drink, "Something like that."

Tony swallowed his drink in one sip, setting the heavy glass down on the counter with a deafening _clink_.

"Listen to me. There are people out there who want to destroy everything that means anything to us. The things we care about most are in danger _because of us_."

Steve's brow creased. As irreverent as Tony could be, he was always honest.

"I love Pepper more than anything. _Anything_. Life without her would be half a life," Tony could hear his voice choke up and he paused to compose himself, "but I will _never_ marry her. Signing a piece of paper that tells the entire world what she means to me would be like signing her death sentence."

Steve felt the bottom fall out. It was something he had known, on some level, all along, but hearing Tony say it out loud made his entire body clench. After his talk with Andy just weeks earlier, the idea of marrying Anne, the idea of spending the rest of his life with her, had lodged itself in his brain like shrapnel. He felt a rush of shame, chastising himself for not thinking of the consequences.

Watching Steve's reaction, Tony smiled mirthlessly and poured himself another drink. "Trust me, it took me a long time to learn this. You want to keep her safe? Be in love, be happy, but no more coy looks in mixed company. The more people know, the more trouble you're in."

Steve nodded and Tony swiftly changed the conversation, transforming himself again into the self-assured man who had just proposed an independent Avengers. The two of the talked strategy late into the afternoon, while Anne burned in the back of Steve's mind.

* * *

_December 31_

_10:00 PM _

As was expected, Tony had planned an extravagant New Year's Eve celebration. But, when Clint and Natasha's information-gathering discovered a sinister string of explosions in a shopping mall in Idaho, the team was called away. By the time they crossed back over the Rockies, the job was done, but their first mission had been trying – the six of them fumbling recklessly and missing each other's cues. The ride back to New York was a quiet one.

While the others showered, changed, and were ushered by Tony into his massive party, already well underway, Steve lingered alone in the locker room, as he so often did after difficult missions, rehashing what hadn't gone right. It was there that Anne found him.

"I'm sorry," she said as she entered, seeing him sitting on a bench, still in uniform, his elbows on his knees, his forehead in his hands. When he looked up at her, she suddenly felt like she had intruded on a private moment, "I'm sorry, I should have knocked."

She hesitated, "How did it go out there?"

He gave a short bark of a laugh, "Could have been better."

"It will be," she moved towards him, meeting his gaze, but he looked away sharply.

"You always believe in the best."

"I believe in _you_."

When he didn't react, she turned away again, moving towards the door.

He stood, crossing the room in an instant, his arm moving around her waist, pulling her against him. Up close, she smelled the smoke on him, saw how his uniform was in tatters.

"Please," he whispered against her hair. What Tony had told him echoed in his head: _she is in danger because of you_. But instead of pushing her away, as perhaps he should have done, he squeezed his eyes shut and tightened his grip.

"Don't go."

* * *

She locked the locker room door and led him to the showers, a high-ceilinged room with white tiled partitions dividing it into five separate stalls.

Facing him, she unzipped and unbuttoned the suit. She pulled his gloves off gently, peeled the ruined jacket down his arms, rising onto her tiptoes to pull his undershirt up and over his head. Her fingers grazed his bared flesh. She pressed a kiss to his naked shoulder and he felt himself relax. She unfastened his belt buckle, lowering his pants, bending down to unzip his boots. As she moved, his hands brushed her shoulders, her hair. He sighed. It felt good to allow himself be taken care of, to let her manage him.

As he sat to pull off his boots, she slid her feet out of her own shoes, shedding her sweater and pencil skirt, her bra and panties, folding them on the bench next to him. Steve watched her carefully as she tied up her hair, examining every inch of her. She saw him look, and let him. Picking a stall, she warmed the water as he eased himself onto his feet, crossing the room to join her.

Stepping aside, she made room for him to stand under the hot water. His hands pressed flat against the tile on either side of the showerhead, letting the water's heat seep into his aching muscles, letting it wash away the layer of grime that coated him.

Behind him, Anne lathered a washcloth with soap and ran it across his shoulders and arms, down his back, across his hips. Reaching around him, she washed his chest and stomach. Soap ran down his legs and he watched it circle the drain, mingled with the filth coming off of him.

As he felt her lips press against old, familiar scars, her fingers dancing across new contusions and scrapes, something in Steve's chest – something nameless and despairing – grew heavy. Needing to see her, needing to feel his arms around her, he turned suddenly. He cradled her against him, feeling the water run down his back. After a long moment, she pulled back, looking up at him.

"I don't want us to be apart – even a little apart – ever again."

Her eyes were fixed on his, wide and anxious.

He smiled down at her, grateful that the water would mask the tears on his face. "Then we'll have to stay together."

He pulled her back against him, the side of her face pressed against his bare chest, his hand on her hair. Slowly, piece-by-piece, in her arms he felt himself come back together.

After a while of holding each other, soaked and naked, she felt him grow hard against her hip. His lips pressed against her hairline sweetly, and a wave of need rose through her.

Her hand slid between them, wrapping around his erection and stroking, the warm, soapy water providing more than adequate lubrication. He tensed, trying valiantly not to thrust against her hand. "_Bed_," he whispered breathlessly, kissing the side of her neck.

He felt her lips curve against the shell of his ear, "Just to take the edge off." He looked at her and she smiled playfully, their serious moment passed. She wrapped her palm around his sensitive head, her other hand hooking around his neck, pulling him down until his mouth was pressed against hers. Her tongue slid across his and he surged against her.

His hands gripped her hips. He broke the kiss, unable to concentrate on both sensations. His head dipped, the side of his face pressed against hers. Near her ear, she could hear his breathing grow ragged as her hand moved faster. He gasped her name as he came, spilling hot against her stomach.

Anne stroked the back of his neck, soothing him, as he pressed breathless kisses down her neck to her shoulder, his hand spread wide on her back. She could feel her body hum with desire under his touch, his mouth.

"Let's go," he murmured.

She gasped as he took one of her breasts in his palm. "Lucky thing you live downstairs."

He smiled against her mouth, "Lucky."

* * *

By the time they reached the penthouse, after the torture of watching her put her clothes back on, after the long elevator ride down, after taking her by the hand through the empty hallways of Stark Tower's residential floor, after leading her inside and taking her back in his arms, after slowly undressing them both and laying her across his bed, his hardness had returned in full force.

As he joined her, in the dim light of the room, he could see that her eyes were watery, her hands shaking slightly. He pressed himself against her, his hand sliding between her legs, his fingers pushing into her. She sighed, melting into the mattress, loose and pliant under his hands. He knew her, knew her body, knew how to touch her, how to make her shiver and moan and unravel underneath him.

When she had climaxed twice under his touch, when she had soaked his fingers, when she lay flushed and heavy-lidded, satisfied and limp beneath him, he parted her legs and settled himself between them. As he pushed into her, she flung her arms around his shoulders, her fingers buried in his hair. It was languorous and slow, the two of them moving against each other in long, undulant strokes.

He groaned against her shoulder. "Missed this," he breathed, his voice growing hoarse and strained as he moved inside her, "Missed you."

* * *

After, sitting up against the headboard, curled around each other in the low, golden light of the room, he told her what Tony had told him.

"I don't know if he's completely right, but after what happened in West Virginia, it's hard to argue with him," he told her, his brow creased.

She sat up, alarmed. "You said—" She began, suddenly desperate at the thought that he might leave her for her own good, knowing that falling on his sword was his trademark move.

Steve understood her immediately. He shook his head, pulling her tight against him, "I'm here. I'm yours."

She relaxed, her hand warm on his chest, her head on his shoulder, "Then what is it?"

"I just—" he paused, collecting himself, then continued quietly, "I would have married you."

For a moment they were both quiet, each grieving the loss of a kind of future they knew they couldn't have.

Suddenly, Anne laughed, the sound echoing off of the still-bare walls. It seemed absurd to be sad when they were together, in his bed, their arms around each other. There was nothing better. Nothing else.

He looked down at her, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

"They say marriage is a wonderful institution…" she began, an insuppressible grin lighting up her face.

He smirked and finished, "…but who wants to live in an institution?"

She smiled, shifting to straddle his lap, sitting face-to-face with him, nuzzling the side of his neck. "We don't have to be married. We're not married now," she giggled. The sound was rare and wonderful, and despite his heavy heart he couldn't help smiling back at her. Her hands were on the sides of his face, "We have so much already."

His hands traced the sides of her waist. "What about…the future?"

She shrugged, "We can have whatever we want. We'll just have it in a different way. Our own way."

He leaned up, kissing her for a long while. When they finally lay down next to each other, Anne reached to turn off his bedside lamp, catching a glance at the clock next to it.

"It's past midnight," she frowned, "We missed it."

"No, we didn't," he smiled, "Happy New Year."


	11. A Quick Note

Hopefully I don't get in trouble for this, but I wanted to post something here because quite a few people follow this story and it might be relevant to their interests.

The sequel to this story, _All the Beautiful Things_, is now posted at my profile. If you enjoyed this story, I hope you enjoy its continuation just as much.

Thanks for reading!

PA


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